Sister in the Shadows

Now that everything is finished cosmetically around here, it's time to get away from the nuts and bolts of a blog and back to actually writing blog entries. I feel unleashed in a way. The changes were long overdue and I have a fresh outlook. I've always run toward change rather than resisted it, so this comes as no real surprise.

I've been battling a pretty strong bout of depression this past week, something that used to make my life both miserable and beautiful, but since I outgrew all of those hormonal ups and downs years ago, I've remained pretty level. I admit that I relished the angsty introspection because I almost always seem to come out of it with tons of ideas. Happiness and contentment have a way of playing hell with the artistic soul, I guess.

I did an image search on the word, depression. Nearly all of the photos show someone holding their head in their hands, or their knees drawn up. Depression has never affected me like that. For me--if I could picture it--it's more a crossed-arms, retiring posture, silently watching what's going on, scrutinizing every black thought. I found this painting. This is how depression feels to me.

Over the past week I was able to get back in touch with the deeper part of me that few people ever meet. I keep her for myself, that me whose gut is clutched by a giant velvet fist, demanding I express the psychic and emotional pain that I try so hard to hide. Because I've had to deal with depression my entire life, it doesn't frighten me. I am not suicidal and I detest self-pity. But I do enjoy a little self-indulgence once in a while; I like to discover what comes out of it, what new ground I can cover. It never lasts very long and the worst part of it is those upon-waking anxiety attacks I've written about several times through the years.

Night before last I worked a number of hours on Book Three. Blowing out the cork that I thought was lodged in my creativity wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined. I think this book is going to be easier than the other two were. Outside of some web work, I've done a great deal of writing over the past two days and nights. I'm trying a new tack, but I'm not sure that it's going to stick. I'm not yet familiar or comfortable with this book--that takes time. I'm sort of dancing around it, waiting for it to show me what it's going to be. Although I've outlined the story, I'm unsure of its tone. We've only just begun to get to know each other. These books are like a trio of sisters, similar in looks, mannerisms, and genetics, but individual at the same time. I liked the two older sisters, but I think I'm going to fall in love with the third.

R.I.P

Do you remember back in the "old days" when you'd be out and about somewhere and something would happen, and you'd think, "I can't wait to blog about this!" It wasn't that long ago, really. But these days everyone seems to have a phone that connects to every server in the world, and most people just send these moments to Twitter or Facebook.

When blogging made its first real impact on how we travel the internet, it was thrilling. "People are reading again! People are actually writing!" But that was quickly replaced by the one-liner. "At the doctor's office", "Can't believe I'm stuck in traffic!", or "This burrito is awesome!" I'm not saying that's not fun, because it is. It's just that it feels like, after spending time writing long entries, we've returned to grunts and growls.

Of course, I remember when blogging became the thing, people complained that nobody emailed anymore.

"What have you been up to?"
"Don't you read my blog?"

Change is inevitable, but as comments have declined here, I'm really not sure if anyone is reading my entries anymore. I check my Sitemeter, but it seems that most of my visitors these days are strangers performing Google image searches, or spambots. That's one of the reasons I don't post an entry every night like I used to do. Why bother?

That's the saddest thing to me: that the blog community has splintered and there are a lot of people I miss. I still visit other people's blogs every morning, and I leave comments as much as I ever did--which isn't saying much, but I've always been one of those people who don't leave a comment unless I have something to say. Maybe you're the same way and you've just gotten bored with my insomniac rambles.

Despite how many blogs have fallen by the wayside, Kelly of Byzantium's Shores is still going strong. Today is his 10th blogaversary, but he's not complaining like I am. He doesn't seem to need the comments like I do. Still, drop by and wish him 10 more years!

As for me, I'm considering closing up shop here. I'm seriously thinking about merging my author website with a new blog which will be about my life as a writer, my books, and my thoughts about writing. It sounds fresh and new, and after nine and-a-half years here, I think I need the change.

Boffo!

What a success yesterday's book launch was! Lynette's book sold so well, in fact, that Hastings told her it was best book signing they'd ever had at this store. The reception was every bit as successful as well. Here are some pictures.

The Book Signing

The Reception

Our books. A small stack now, but watch it grow!

Thanks to Bobbie Fry for gifting the delicious cake,

made by Frosted, The Bakery

The caviar station

Just two of many bottles of champagne that were popped.

Henry Miller says, "Cheese!"

Afternoon lace patterns.

Salmon pate and dahl bread.

Bacon-wrapped shrimp. Didn't last!

Catered by The Vicar of Nibbly

(actually, Joel and myself).

My mother's antique tea cups.

Mini-scones, jam, and clotted cream.

"Cheers!"

Thanks to Bobbie Fry for the cake, Michael Broyles for the poster, Lauren Weaver for the photography, and to Joel Wiseman for all the help!

A Bit of Promo, et al.

Only two days until Lynette's book signing at the Stillwater Hastings. If you are able to come, you are also invited to the private reception immediately following at our house.

I have to pace myself these days with the preparations, cleaning, and food prep. Once upon a time I could have pulled one of these things together in a couple of days, but with back surgery looming and my condition only getting worse each day, it takes me a full week or longer, and even then I nearly kill myself. I'll be glad when this surgery thing is over, but I have no idea right now of when that will be; America's health system is so f***ed up. I'm in the process of filing all of the convoluted applications and qualification forms. But I love holding parties. I love all the running around, staging the house, planning the menu, and all that, so I face into the wind and just do it, my happy Hydrocodone bottle in hand.

It's gotten pretty exciting around here. A couple of our friends have contributed things to the event, one being a large sheet cake with the book cover on it. (Thanks, Bobbie!) If only Barefoot Winery would have donated a few bottles of their Barefoot Bubbly... we love that stuff! In fact we love Barefoot wines, hands down, and buy little else any more. I wrote to them (wearing my publisher hat, of course) and asked them if they'd like to have their Bubbly represent them at our event and if so, could they send us four or five bottles and some literature, but I never heard from them. Funny. Franzia surprised me with a buttload of their boxed merlot when they saw that Associated Press interview with me. (God, I hate that picture... I was so ill back in 2007... Just to set things straight, here's what I look like these days since Thyroidzilla has been sent to his kennel. I took this just yesterday. Cheese!

It just occurred to me that I just gave Barefoot a bit of free publicity... Maybe, when I go to Brown's to buy the Bubbly, I'll insist on getting it at a reduced price. Nah... that would never work...

Above is a picture of Nettl with a poster that Michael, a college friend of hers, had made. It's on foam board and looks amazing! He's even promised to make one of my cover when it's my turn.

For more info about the book signing, click here.

If Only We Could Grasp it

‎"Your light is seen, your heart is known, your soul is cherished by more people than you might imagine. If you knew how many others have been touched in wonderful ways by you, you would be astonished. If you knew how many people feel so much for you, you would be shocked. You are far more wonderful than you think you are. Rest easy with that. Breathe again. You are doing fine. More than fine. Better than fine. You’re doing great and don't let anything or anyone steal your right to feel good about yourself."  (Neale Donald Walsc)

If I'm able to leave only one entry this week due to my schedule, let it be this one.

Dylan's Face

Since that afternoon in 1963 when I first picked up and looked at his Freewheelin' album, I've had a love affair with Bob Dylan's face. He was considerably younger then--22 to be exact--and despite the soft innocence his face possessed, I had a feeling there was a whole lot more going on. I don't mean that I was attracted like a teen girl, or a fan, I mean that I was drawn to its aesthetic beauty.

I bought the album because I'd heard Don't Think Twice, It's All Right at a friend's house and was blown away. I was new to folk music and it was Dylan who popped that cherry for me. I'd been playing on a guitar, although I didn't know chords or anything else about it, but when I heard Dylan play, I knew I had to learn. I still haven't mastered that rolling picking pattern though. I can play a lot of others, and I've even invented a few of my own, but that one still evades me. But then, I've never had anyone just sit down and show it to me. Any volunteers? Anyway, back to Dylan's face, because, well, this entry isn't supposed to be about his music.

Through the years Dylan's face has changed for a number of different reasons. Age is the most obvious, but cultural trends played a small role (hair, sunglasses, facial hair, etc.), as well as his fascinating ability to invent and re-invent himself. Regardless of the changes, his face has qualities that mesmerize me: the smooth, heart-shaped jawline, the long, slightly hooked nose, the impish mouth, and his shocking blue eyes. When I first discovered that his eyes were blue, I was a bit puzzled. I mean, he just didn't fit the blue-eyed man image. I'd assumed they were brown.

My favorite "look" was that 1965-66 Ray-Bans, black turtleneck look. He's not a big guy anyway, but his thinness and his head full of JFed curls gave him a Chaplinesque quality that worked for him at the time. Do you remember the impact that look had on you the first time you saw a picture of him?

"You know something is happenin', but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones..."

After his motorcycle accident (or drug rehab, depending on which story you believe), he came back looking more like he did at the beginning, except with a bit of a beard. His hair had been tamed, he'd put on a little weight, and he'd taken to wearing wire-rimmed glasses in private. He looked more approachable and less intimidating. By his own account, he was busy raising a family and music was the only way he knew how to put food on the table and make the house payment. It seemed to me that he took an emotional break from the fame he'd attained so quickly, and his face reflected the peace he'd found in upstate New York.

It wouldn't last though. With Dylan nothing ever lasts, except perpetual motion and constant change. The next time I noticed his looks was in Renaldo and Clara. He haphazardly slapped some clown white on his face, lined his eyes with kohl, and peered out menacingly at the audience from under a wide-brimmed hat. And I loved it! The music from this time was especially good: I can't name one bad song on his Blood On The Tracks album. It's still my favorite of his. Yes, I know the LP came out in 1975 and the movie in 1978, but I'm talking about eras here, not a concise timeline.

Even as Dylan has aged I've still loved his face. There's so much character, so much history. Every wrinkle has a story to tell. Those blue eyes have seen so much and that mouth has told us about some of it.

We all age, we all get older. If you can't face that, then you seriously need to grow up. I mean, unless you're still a kid. It's faces like Dylan's that help me to accept and even love my own aging every time I look in the mirror. When I think about it, I'm damned proud to be aging right alongside Dylan!