As the new year dawns it becomes clear to me that I want to read my books, take photographs and publish Blanche. I guess it's as simple as that.

I am reading my AGNI collection and I find that the stories fall into a few styles. There are vignettes containing little action and much description, a distinct place/time relevance with a sharply-defined protagonist. They remind me of a very good photograph.

Then there are what I think of as the cynical stories. They tend to have a bitter slant, with sex, violence and eye-catching themes like the Holocaust, and I guess they are for the ironic set, a commentary of a society beset with ennui. As you might think, I don't like those stories very much.

I love the historical stories and I'm excited to see them. It's interesting to learn more about the small presses and I can't wait to look for some of the novels by these authors.

I took a lot of pictures over this holiday and it's been a lot of fun. I seem to have a literal fascination with winter light. Half the photos I take are of windows with cold light streaming through and the other half of vegetation. I loved taking pictures on the dock best. It was a cage-like structure, old and rusty, with little sparrows nesting.

I found a book of haiku at The Book Rack. Apparently the American haiku has no syllable rules, only content guidelines.

I like The Importance of Form
in Sketching by Matthew Kirby.

The Mississippi river is calm.

Chad's French fry sculpture at Chateau Coffeehouse

Labels: treo photos

I couldn't feel less like Christmas if I was angsting in black nail polish and mourning veils. Not once this season have I felt moved or excited by the bustle, lights or prettiness around me. I took a possessive joy in decorating our home but certainly not a holy one. And when I think of my family far away from me and each other, physically or otherwise, my heart is as dead and cold as a stone in my breast. The one thing that has lifted my spirits is that every day this week I have gotten a book off my Amazon wish list from my dad and Donna, and in January I am going to take these books to the coffee house or under a tree and read them to my heart's content.

I really didn't want to suffer postpartum depression over A Raven for a Lark, but I can't deny it any longer. I know when I leave my world that it will be a while before I have the stamina to enter it again. Memories of it come upon me and it's so beautiful I feel sorry for everyon else in the world. Sometimes I think that that's where I'm going to be when I die. Any of those places I have lived in my mind.

Tonight I can't get on the computer to do work, and I wonder what I should do. There is scarcely any work to do at all. It annoys me that people say prOn, pron or pr0n instead of porn or better yet porn-o-graph-y in their journals. Do you know what I am talking about? One half of the female population is taking pictures of their twats and putting it on their MySpace and the other half is thinking of gentle metaphors for their boy-on-boy action. Let's call a spade a spade though, okay? Let's have a little balance, because all you are driving me crazy. That's right, you. I can't take much more of your feminine nonsense. I am Everywoman. If you see me in the hallway tonight, please smile back, or at least, don't glance away like a nervous animal. If you scan my groceries or make my latte, please don't treat me like gum on your shoe. Thanks, I appreciate it.

The Wild Child, by Rikki Ducornet-- historical in nature, descriptive and evocative, reminds me of Robert Coover and Angela Carter

My new year's resolutions look great! I can't wait to start. The only thing is figuring out how to fit all this stuff in. I'm nixing a couple of things till next year, at least seriously, because I have an unfathomable amount of stuff on my list. You really can't imagine.

Last night I was overwhelmed with a desire to sew, and it continued on into today. I didn't because I wanted to finish some Christmas chores, but now I want to figure some sewing into my schedule. I may do it tomorrow since I'm managing pretty well with the chores.

The specifics haven't been delineated, but my 2006 activities include: writing--revising, submissions, digital photography--photo editing, photolog and photo print journal, sewing and crafting (just as I'm sitting here now I remember the botany/flower press idea too), cooking--limited to high tea, the only meal I find interesting. I want to make my own tea sandwich recipes and already have lots of ideas.

As I'm just now realizing, a lot of this stuff is seasonal. Photography and plant-gathering can only happen in spring and summer, and of course I'll write another novel in November. This is getting complicated!

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things.

1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else.

She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better.

2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journal and discovered that nine months ago I was carrying on about exactly the same thing. The same feelings, the same troubles, and of course the same day's work. She says that a new year or birthday can be deeply depressing for this very reason. Then she goes into some sermonizing about how God makes it worthwhile and I found myself very unconvinced. But I felt assured of at least one thing, for this final portion lent a powerful irony to her whole guide: things don't change in a month or year, nor in a hundred years. The powerful emotions and behaviors she described so well throughout are not dated at all. It is, I declare, just as the world I have experienced, and this book is smart and valuable as it is timeless.

Nov. 26. Some electric bass guitars from the Guitar Center

Labels: treo photos

I decided today that I like Christmas well enough. It proves a great challenge, and it is good to face an onslaught of stress. I must fend off rampant materialism and disgust for the Christmas corporate entity. I must think very seriously, just this once, of how to be meaningful to those I love and disregard whatever is not meaningful.

I omitted a tier from our Christmas tree and it is much lovelier and less obtrusive. This afternoon I began scanning pictures to enclose in our relatives' Christmas cards. A trip to Hobby Lobby is in order for them and me.

Then I have gifts to wrap and more to buy, and cards to mail. I think with each year this will get easier. The thought of having a child now suggests more entropy than I can even imagine.

It is almost an hour till lunch and I am so glad. The night has gone somewhat quickly, and I am hungry. I have a book to read and some things to try out with audioblogging, in my office. I had some pink bows left from my Christmas tree long, long ago and they adorned my little gold tree very nicely. It all looks very classy and festive in my dorm-looking office. I have had little opportunity to go up there as of late since I have had little need to be secretive in my activities, since I am writing so much at home now. My numerous Christmas activities will be put aside till Friday as I work on Blanche, then The Siren. Both are near a finish. A Raven for a Lark has taught me that no matter how dispassionate I may feel about a story while writing, when I am done a feeling of that world lingers more strongly than ever.

Well my hands are hurting. I have been without Rose too long and am out of shape.

Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--