You want me to talk about composers? Oh, okay!

I’m listening to a lot of scores right now – meaning I’m writing. They never lose their beauty, but the playlist – after three years of musing on the same list – does need to be refreshed. (That was an exaggeration.)  So I went to my tried and true composers: Hans Zimmer and Thomas Newman.

Note: I cannot for the life of me get TM’s “Home Movies” composition from Corrina, Corrina. And it’s making my homicidal.

Anyway. So, everyone knows that my obsession began with James Horner. (Everyone knows that.) When I was little, I used to watch The Land Before Time ceaselessly and couldn’t understand why that movie made me feel so strongly, unlike other kid movies. As I got a little older, scores from things like Legends of the Fall and Braveheart had the same effect. It just caught my heart in a vice grip. Finally, sometime before high school, I looked at the backs of these movies and found the commonality. (And then hounded my band director for four years until he finally ordered a James Horner piece, which I played until I passed out – which. was inevitable. 1st chair woodwind. James Horner. Right.)

So, tonight, as I was thinking of how strange it is that I don’t really listen to JHorner while I write, I decided to look some up.

They are the trio of geniuses, no one disputes this. (No one disputes this.) But this is kind of how it breaks down – and I wouldn’t even say this if I didn’t know that you all are committed and convicted admirers, as am I.

Hans Zimmer is lovely. And is also the Samuel L. Jackson of film scoring (a phrase which I hate and which, in my opinion, has this trifling connotation as though these pieces are just ditties of the pop culture machine, because ppl are idiots and don’t realize that the same thing that made ballet great is what makes films great — yeah, how do we recognize the genius of Tchaikovsky and not…right). ANYWAY. So HZ is Samuel L. And that’s cool. Sorta. He’ll score anything, which results in fun movements in unlikely films and then a smattering of unexpected beauty in films that don’t deserve it.

Thomas Newman is more discriminating, I think. I typically find him where the tone of the writing matches the deceptive simplicity of his work. Nothing could replace him in any of his films. (They are his films. He makes them.)

James Horner. I’ve restarted this sentence like seven times. How do you say. When only epic and equally heartbreaking will do. James Horner. It is also why I can’t write to his work. It takes over me, I can barely hold my neck straight. Some people call them chills, but it’s just a cooling sensation that starts somewhere in my chest, grows through my arms and up the back of my neck (this happens with the music of all three) and then with JH, it continues up through the surface of my skin. Le sigh. I can’t really explain it more clearly than that.

 

Beautiful

Some songs are just not long enough and I end up listening to them in a loop for hours. And then have to dismiss them for a while because I’ve overplayed them. And then a few months later, we rejoin at a more reasonable pace. It’s so romantic.

Sometimes we should slow down but we don’t. If anyone ever found out we needed a moment, our reputation would be ruined. Except maybe everyone already knew you were human but you.

Talking to myself. How embarrassing.

 

Gush.

This is Tayari’s fault. (I told you. Someone must be blamed. And procrastination is getting tired of my verbal abuse.) Do I journal? This question – and again NOT because of procrastination – made me all warm and gooey inside (Andy, don’t you say a word). I started thinking about those two boxes packed away either under the bed or in the staircase closet…the one American Eagle shoebox that fits the journals from age nine to roughly four years ago (minus the computer journals – which are on my external hard drive)…and the beautiful box Auntie-Mom gave me sometime last year, which holds the “modern” journals.

<time lapse>

Okay, if you understood the inhuman effort Josh put into organizing all of our belongings in this small apartment (I’d say tiny but. I still remember our first apartment in Capitola.) you’d realize how ridiculously epic this is. I pretended I was willing to go unpack the closet to find these two boxes and came out after – I don’t know – thirteen seconds. So, long story short, I have pictures. And they really are necessary for this entry!

So, as I was saying – they’re broken up into two collections apart from the computer group. The first would be what I’d refer to as the insignificant ones, housed here to the left. The second is the treasure trove below it, and I’m sure the difference in priority is clearly represented.

Right. Now, as I was saying, I have the journals since my first one. And I still remember the day I got it. Our Town & Country minivan had to go in for something and we went for a walk while we were waiting. At whatever store we entered, I saw this and fell in love. I’d never had a journal other than those thin, coil-bound perfectly square notebooks we were given for free-write in elementary school – which was equally personal proclamations of love for some boy or another and a story ridiculously long for my age and ridiculously plagiarized from Anne of Green Gables. Except my story was set in Nova Scotia! (Still haven’t gotten to Halifax, by the way, but then I’ve only been in Montreal for a month.)

And this is it. My first journal. My godmother had a fascination for bears and I had a fascination with being called Keepsake by my godfather – a nickname I’ve missed since he passed away – so it was a natural compulsion, I guess. The funny thing about this one is that I made myself rewrite sloppy entries. So sometimes I had to write something down and only had a crayon (even though nine years old seems kinda old for that foolishness) and would reenter the text below it in more legible writing with a pen or pencil.

Okay, so there are some abandoned ones missing in this collection, come to think of it. People started giving me journals when they realized my obsessive writing. I’d try to write in them and usually discard them when I disliked the thickness of the paper, the cover (my play cousin gave me one covered in Tazmanian Devil toons once) … I was also a bit discriminating about what I wrote in. Which – of course – doesn’t mean anyone else would have wanted the ones I liked. I’m pretty sure I outgrew this Hello Kitty brand long before it was finished. I loved the color and texture of the paper. It reminded me of Dances w/ Wolves. O_O But it cost so much and I saved up so long to get it (having an obsession with this adorable doggy and buying anything from lollipops to printer paper to a mug I still drink out of to have his little face on something more)… I guess my needs in a journal were not impressed enough to stave off boredom.

And no. There is no shame in my game. I loved me some Backstreet Boys. I actually spent my Twirp (ie. Sadie Hawkins) money on a bunch of BSB stuff instead of buying the shirts I was headed to purchase. Thankfully, I didn’t care. Hah. Yeah, in place of those more expensive shirts, I bought myself a load of groupie swag, including the shirt I wore to said dance aaaand my date was less than enthusiastic about wearing a Spice Girls shirt to “match” me. Again. I cared not. It was all about my precious, precious Backstreet Boys.

Then there were my two more romantic journals from high school, both of which actually came before that senior year purchase. The coil bound one was the first for me of its kind and I absolutely loved being able to have such unbridled space. As much as I loved the one on the bottom – and I mean lurved it, people – I couldn’t help wondering if I’d give up the beautiful binding for the freedom of a coil or twenty.

Lordy, lord. Through most of college I wrote in a computer journal – though the senior year BSB journal made it there with me. I know that when I was pregnant with Ezra and in the months after he was born – when Josh was always working and I was writing Anagnorises and staring down at my quiet boy or taking my then-puppy downstairs where I had to go with him into the grass to potty because he was afraid of the dark – I was writing like mad in my computer journal. I remember making the mistake of watching The Butterfly Effect a week after coming home from delivering Ezra and the end traumatizing me (not that I hadn’t been sick to my stomach already). So, it would seem that I didn’t start writing in a tangible journal again until Bangor in 2005.

And these, then, would be the Welsh ones. The small purple one came first – which I bought on High street at WHSmith and first wrote in while sitting in the Bible Gardens. Aaand the guys doing scaffolding on the “cathedral” were catcalling me. Nice. I remember the immediate infatuation and devotion to blank pages from that moment on. I have since not written in a lined journal and I never shall again, mes amis. The cover was brushed and the size was romantic. Loved it. Until I found the one next to it in a shop on the isle of Anglesey. Slate gray – though you can’t really tell and it’s gotten a smidge darker – and wide. Ella Fitzgerald was playing when I bought it and I’d just come from watching swans glide in the moat. Love. I’ll have to go back and do Bangor all over again. Anticipating that we’d be there for several years, I didn’t take nearly enough pictures.

And the final two in this category: My very first Roma Lussa (laying) and my shared, engagement journal (standing). Of course, these were purchased like five or so years apart, since the burgundy one was something Josh and I wrote in leading up to our wedding and then, throughout the early months of marriage. There’s a picture of the praying hands in the front cover and something about leaving the rest to God. Which is exactly what you do when you get married.

The Roma Lussa raped my senses when I passed it in *cough*Borders*cough*. And I swear I’ll never purchase anything from there again until they publicly apologize for their bookstore ghettos. But it literally made me dream of it until Joshua went and bought it despite my mourning over not wanting to spend that kind of money on a journal. I. Have another one – which is my present journal, but I didn’t buy it! So, it’s all good. And I’ll never go back, did I mention. It’s a bible, people. It’s unlined, it’s by Cavallini & Co. The pages are handwoven and the edges are marbled. The entire thing is handmade. It’s decadent. It’s arousing in every way possible. *Gush* I want to go write in it, but first I have to show you the marbled edges on the two I own.

I heart. The next one I’ll be needing is this burnt orange color and, believe me, they get even more gorgeous with age. The oils in my hands have turned them even richer colors.

I heart. These tomes.

And finally – because I am entirely indulgent tonight – here are the two writing journals I use, in which I “sketch” and investigate when I need to write long hand. I have cured the basic problem with Composition Books, you shall see.

Oh, maybe you can’t see. It’s lots and lots of reinforced tape along the binding. And please don’t put too much emphasis on the fact that I have purchased one moleskine in my life. It will probably never happen again, but the thickness of the page works well for practicing calligraphy…which I haven’t used it for but that is a good justification.

And that, children, is why Bethany didn’t finish editing in time for the Bellwether deadline!

 

Never Say Never

What the hell, people? Can’t keep yourselves amused for three freaking days? No, but thanks for the abyssal valley on my blog stats. Good looking.

Anyway, I’ve been writing a lot and haven’t heard any super salty entertainment/news stories that inspired any rants, which is why I’ve not been blogging as much as I’d like. Plus, we all know the last month of a stint is pretty mentally chaotic as we prepare for Josh to graduate – after finishing several sorta big projects, which always makes it more fun, no? – and move out of Santa Cruz, simultaneously getting things packed away for summer storage and also trying to scale everything down. The one good thing about moving as frequently as we have in the past seven years is that it forces you to shed rather regularly. So, Ezra’s plastic containers will be gone through and books and toys that aren’t staples of his will be given away before we seal the rest away to stack in a parent’s garage for two or so months.

As far as my work, I’ve been working on a short, which is also an alternate take on a story I was beginning with the idea that it would be a full-length. What I’ve really enjoyed about making it a short – at first for submission to literary journals although now that it’s going to be for something else – has been redefining the main character. For the full-length, her characterization was a lot less complex because her counterpart – the other main character who also happens to be her brother, in title only – was present. In taking her out of that story and wanting to keep the paramount historical experience that shaped her, her motivations and personality have changed making her a really interesting person to me. She and her brother originally surfaced for me when I started thinking about the paralysis that can result from irrational privilege, the emptiness that creates unsavory personalities. Of course, since my overarching themes in the recent past have included the Black American predicament (and Lord do I hate that oversimplification – or rather how that will be oversimplified by the reader) and my intended audience is not Black Americans per se (many of us already know, right), the natural follow-up theme to me would be the predicament that is so obvious in American culture having to do with White Americans. Aside from it being youth-oriented, which is awesomely indicated in the new show about The Cougar. When did we become so proud of that again?!

ANYWAY, so the brother and sister and their …well unsavory lives were especially intriguing to me at the onset because, well, they are capable of anything. And if you know me at all (as far as my writing), you know why I like that. I’d love to write stories about oiled up muscular men naked to the waist and straddling the seemingly limp body of an overwhelmed damsel whose heaving bosom are threatening to abandon her thin bodice. I really would. not. That’s just not what interests me and it certainly doesn’t seem to serve any purpose aside from a few moments of frenzied… self-motivation. So, instead, I like to portray people who are barely human or people who are as pissed off as I sometimes am that everyone else seems to be ignorant of the air they’re breathing or people who can’t reconcile themselves to the truth. Fun, light-hearted stuff like that. Anywho, I’m in love with my little sociopath. And I don’t have to say that she’s White, right? Everybody’ll just assume that anyway unless I say otherwise.

Other than that, I’m maintaining my matrix of literary agents to query for the once-named “Anagnorises” (whose new title finally jumped out at me like all the others did immediately…only took five years) , the date sent, the date and nature of the response. I have a similar one for literary journals, date sent, name of submission, info such as response time, payment (if any), etc. If you remember my obsession with packets, you are not surprised by this news. I like-a the organizational tools and visual aids. *snort* Oh and then, randomly, I started thinking about serialization for “Anagnorises”, for several reasons. I think I could really like that. Anyway, taking excerpts for revisit for journals and very much enjoying that, as well.

So, I blogged about my work in semi-specific terms. Never say never, I guess.

 

My Wordles!

And so a wonderful website called Wordle has made it possible for me to share my literary work with you! This is truly a glorious day! As we all know, I consider this blog a personal one but I don’t really write about my work. And I’m completely willing to accept that this is one of those things that arouses me immeasurably and actually does little or nothing for others. But, how can I know! So I’m showing you anyway because every new (to me) interpretation of my work is exhilirating. And we know I love me some dopamine release. From the following you should have a complete understanding of my novel, “Anagnorises” (a name to which I am attached though I am beginning to know it will change):

The funny thing about this is that the size of the word is determined by the frequency of its use and I still think that it’s overstating the character names, which in my opinion seem trite when taken out of context. It’s like when someone begins their book description with, “It’s a story about a girl named Jamie…” thereby making it seem entirely ridiculous from the onset, mostly because it couldn’t possibly be about a girl’s name… and if I’d read the book without having it described I might realized how much is encapsulated in that name and it might ring significant upon hearing it because of the context and awareness I have for what “Jamie” means. Otherwise, … all character names sound lame to me. I try not to use them when talking about my books for that reason. And names mean a lot to me, which makes my resolve to protect them from this inevitable misrepresentation even greater.  This makes sense, right? (Not do you agree – do you understand what I’m saying, Andy.)

So that one was produced from “Icharus Flying”, which is a book that I know has to be transposed into a graphic novel. I’m not a visual artist so this is understandably on the back burner. I like the multiple directions for this one because of the story, obviously.

And, finally, there’s “Atlantis Submerged”, which is a magic realism novel. Even though I’m taking it apart and weaving in what I’d thought was going to be a second book, I only included the text from the original work. Aaaand, here it is.

Did you find my son’s name in that last one? We already knew that it would be the name of our first son (and our first-daughter-name is in there, too, however tiny). I also love how the words “know” and “knew” are so prominent. Hilarity.

So I’ll stop with those, since anything else would be an in-progress wordle (which seems pointless) or a substantially shorter work. Again, I’m sorry if this entertains only me!

 

Blurbage

Nothing compares to the sound of rain, especially thick, consistent rain. It’s impossible not to think of the color green, even when I don’t live in a forest/nature preserve. Moss. That’s what it looks like in my mind.

I feel less like I was beat over the head with “indier-than-thou-ness” after watching Juno than I anticipated. But only because of Jennifer Garner. I have never been a “fan” in that I’ve never thought, “hmm, I’m glad she was in that” or could think of some reason her performance was noteworthy or even made mental note or acknowledgment of her presence on the screen. Hm. This. Doesn’t sound like a positive review. What I’m saying is that I have never thought or felt anything about her until now. Her performance is what gave this movie a heart. Otherwise it’d just be another wise-cracking-slightly-charming teenager who only verbally submits to not knowing who she is. If you take the movie for what it actually accomplishes, I get no sense that she’s in a quandary, rather that everyone who doesn’t cavalierly drink slurpies and wear layered clothing is a loser. Don’t get me wrong, she was believably a teenager. But nobody ever told her to shut up. And I guess that doesn’t sit well with me. The other savior of the movie is Michael Cera, of course. He really is boss.

Oh and if you’re wondering. Yes. The French Family Funpack of Netflix strikes again.

 

You Thought That Was Bad?

….I have to collect myself. Because I’m sure everybody thinks music is just as big a deal to them as it is to everyone else. But that does not satsify me. I cannot assume we are all operating on the same wavelength and continue. How can I say this… if you cut me open, where blood should be would run ink and sound. I remember playing the last movement of Bachanale with the district mass recital band and being pretty sure that my chest was going to explode. I had never been that aroused in my entire life. And no I can’t think of another word for that. I cannot write without music. Can. Not. And it’s not indiscriminate. The music has to inspire the idea I already have. Every book of mine has a soundtrack with about three very poignant songs. Usually Thomas Newman or Hans Zimmer, or both.

And even being morbidly dependent on music and the trance it allows me… there has only been one composition that has given me the feeling I have right now. I’ve been trying to figure out the name of this song for literally years. And it’s simply, “Adagio For Strings” by Pulitzer Prize winning composer, Samuel Barber. And it’s free. On iTunes. IT’S. FREE.                  BUT NOT. IN THE US. EVEN THOUGH HE’S AN AMERICAN COMPOSER AND I DON’T CARE IF THAT SOUNDS IRRELEVANT, I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW.

When I was in high school, I would play the Braveheart soundtrack by James Horner to fall asleep. James Horner was my first love. I have since seemingly chosen Thomas Newman, Hans Zimmer and Yann Tiersen over him. But never. When I was little, I used to wonder why I was so haunted by The Land Before Time – a cartoon! But of course, it was the score, the maturity of which was largely unmatched by the compositions of most animated movies (I’d seen at the time – since Disney and Pixar long ago learned the value of having Thomas Newman and Hans Zimmer compose for animated film… and anyone who has seen The Lion King on broadway can attest to the engrossing darkness of Zimmer’s score).

I seriously wonder why books don’t come with the soundtracks necessary for their creation. A book I wrote in high school had a song list at the back. Haha.

But not since James Horner and a short movement written by Thomas Newman for Corrina, Corrina called simply “Home Movies” have I felt this way. I can’t overcome this song. I can’t listen to it enough. I can’t wear myself out on it. I can’t overuse it in my writing trances. There can’t be more than a few moments like this in your life. Where you find something that you need so much that you want to rewrite everything you’ve ever written so that it will be a part of all of them. Le sigh doesn’t quite express it. [Insert SOMETHING] I can’t articulate how even after the song has ended, I sit in the silence it leaves and just breathe. I’m not even thinking. The only thing as moving as the song itself is the silence it leaves when it’s done.

Don’t worry.

I will probably never have cause to write another post like this.

 

Because My Tastes Must Be Contained: FAIL

EDIT: This was supposed to have my playlist… code’s apparently not working. I’ll be back. Maybe.

Current Favorites:

To Bring You Back by Paul Alan

This Place Is Haunted by DeVotchka

Your Love Means Everything by Coldplay

….what a great way to listen incessantly to the music of my youth. Wham! is about to abound, people.

 

Process This To A Point Of Understandingness

Yet another awesome thing about living on-campus: we wanted to get outside to do our respective reading/writing so we grabbed a blanket and packed up Josh’s man-bag (which he swore he’d never carry until he got one this past Christmas…and which is awesome because it means I don’t have to carry a purse and diaper bag) with a few snacks, books, ipod and writing shtuff before heading out to the “soccer field”. It was love-a-ly. (We only came back inside because Ezzie had to… do his business.) ANYWHO! With the view and my Yann Tiersen/Trevor Jones/Thomas Newman/Philip Glass collection playing, I had a lovely time revisiting a poor, misunderstood character who needed to be better represented. The best best best part was (not the ten deer strolling about, as we’re pretty darn used to them) the hawk that swooped down right there on the field and stuck his head in a gopher hole!! It was so awesome. I’ve never been that close to a hawk… aside from Sly Park when I had to smash a mouse against a tree stump to feed the “caged” one. (By “caged”, I mean his living space was bigger than my college dorm.) So the hawk is picking at something for a short while and then sits up and looks at us (I had to make Ezzie sit down to keep him from rushing it) before soaring in our direction (!) to the tree somewhat behind us. It totally made me happy. Weird? No. No, it isn’t.

In other news, while I absolutely love my new toy… my itty bitty ears were screaming and I had to slowly take out the earbuds several times and let my infant ear cartilage cry for a few moments. Thank Jesu that my in-ear thingies were shipped today. Shnike.

 

How We Do

Context is very important. Possibly of the utmost importance. In the context of this particular blog, at least. For instance, who doesn’t like the beach? Who doesn’t love frolicking especially scantily clad among the dunes and waves? And who doesn’t immediately feel disgusting upon heading back to the car. Not upon getting into the car. Upon merely turning in the direction of the car. Because now the context has changed entirely. Sand is fun among more sand. Now you’re looking realistically towards being entirely uncomfortable until you can get into a hot shower. … Then Josh fills the bathtub and I’m forced to climb in (or waste the blue dye he’d already put in the water) when Ezzie and I hadn’t had a chance to rinse the sand off of our feetsies! Gawd. Way to help, broseph.

So I found my new favorite spot. It’s down the side of the cliff on (surprise!) West Cliff Drive. I went past this sign about dangerous something or other and climbed down to a lovely ledge where I sat writing and being kissed by invisible dew. Lovely. People coming around the bend kept looking at me and trying to yell things to me but I couldn’t hear them over the crashing waves. And it seemed really dangerous to keep leaning back over the edge to see them more clearly. Anyway, it was wundebar. And although the point was to start looking over the first 50 pages of Anagnorises that I’d just had printed and stapled, I ended up realizing something about the foundation of Paris Noir (ish) project. Much fun was had by all.

Daddy’s on his way to bring us an Ethan.

So that’s what shall be in a matter of hours.

It was such a beautious day!!