Love in the Time of Corona

It has been way too long since I did this. Way waaay too long. With the constant stream of everyday life, I haven't been listening to my muse..but now...corona! Doesn't it sound like a pretty royal excuse to not leave the house and do something all by our lonesome?

All joking aside, the fears and dangers of corona have been largely discussed and mused about these past few weeks and I don't plan on doing a special on healthcare here, on this blog. What I'm more interested in is how to spend this newfound time we have on our hands - due to being housebound. To stay put can be a scary command for those of us who are used to busying themselves socially, in large groups of people.

I imagine, it can be quite awkward silently reading a book. Or staring at a wall, thinking, if you're not used to doing something like that. Philosophers supposedly do that all day, but these are a rare breed of people with really special needs. You may not see the immediate appeal, but I think being quarantined can be an awesome experience; it all depends on your expectations. And as a couch potato queen, procrastinative genius, lazy-boned blob myself, I promise you, if you just let it happen, you will have a blast.

There are no rules for procrastination in times of corona, except maybe to not let panic mode destroy your precious time of being in the moment. So I would not recommend on doing corona-related research on the internet. Mortality rates, nah. Stay up to date, yes, but pandemic crises reports? Only when directed by Roland Emmerich!

I have several ideas on how to spend the next few weeks. Gardening is high on my list, it would have been anyway, because it is the type of outdoors solitude I enjoy with the advantage of not having to sneeze into my crooks. I plan on reading even more, but that of course means I have to park my two kids, currently home bound with me, somewhere, where they, in turn can procrastinate all by themselves.

Shut up, you, I'm raising a new generation here!

I want to finally immerse myself in The Witcher 3, I want to watch the new season of Better Call Saul, I want to do some more illustrations, do nothing at all, paint a cabinet, declutter my kitchen. This time I will have, it's not all me running wild. I imagine it is much like life in a monastery. Solitude, a nice herbal gardening project, and lots of walking around in my robe, turning inwards for reflections and stuff.

Well, the reality will be, that I'll probably have to do a lot more kids stuff than I planned on, and I have a sneaking suspicion that solitude, when prescribed, will throw me into a reactant spiral of "You can't tell me what to do!" unrest. So maybe I'll start a rave or something, just to be a bit subversive. Other than that: greener pastures, my friends.

What are all of you going to do? Will you befriend yourself all anew? Will you practice being alone with your thoughts? That doesn't mean being asocial, you know. It just means that you, for a certain time in your life, are enough and content being around you. It's good. You're close family. Being you is one of the best things you have in your life. So, take care. Have a ball, you.

For The Moment

I was talking to our pediatrician the other day, about how parents will do anything for the health and safety of their kids. They will drive thousands of hours to see the best doctors and do whatever it takes, and give their limbs and organs, if necessary. This conversation sparked a little stream of consciousness on the drive home. I was thinking about those moments, when kids are small babies, when, for the moment, all their needs are fulfilled and they just happily lie there in your arms and doze off, while you, as a parent, can't help but think about all the things yet to come.

I'm off!

I guess the time has come to admit it, so I'll finally admit to it: I'm off. I'm blank. I'm vacant. Being creative, making time for other things besides maintenance of life (hah, gotta love the specifics): it's all gone. Off the map. Me, the person who wrote each and every day and blogged half-regularly: was it just a fluke? Or a placeholder? Am I being overly dramatic? Well, I guess it's a little bit of all of the above.

I'd like to cling to the hopes of having a tiny little residue of energy left to go on - creatively speaking. Some day. I haven't given up the idea of a writerly career. But to get there, I have to write. Every day. Stay in shape. Honestly, it wouldn't be hard to make time if I really wanted to do it now, but the truth is, these days I'm burning on a low flame. And I prefer sleep over writing.

With a second kid, I somehow feel ridiculous talking about the importance of art and leisure. It has little meaning to me. I'm not saying that I found it elsewhere, because there's no infinite wisdom buried beneath baby poop and vomit, but these are the pressing issues in my life right now. Life upkeep. Hey, by the way, here's the test to find out if you are a real writer: If you have the choice between writing a story and cleaning up a spilled drink that drips down to the floor, what would you do first? If you choose writing over cleaning up, congrats, you are a writer! If you are like me, and you can't do anything else, knowing that something is dripping, you are not. Or maybe you have OCD.

There are a couple of other options, for those of us who want to combine the everyday life with writing. I thought about it. Writing about the everyday life. Unfortunately I can't mash up these things. I'm not a baby blogger. I just don't have it in me. And I rarely find other baby blogs to be insightful or original, least of all entertaining - except for the Baby Bible, which I've come to enjoy quite a lot.

Me, I don't want to talk regularly about the ups and downs of being a nurse, janitor, baby feeder. Unless those babies have magical powers hidden beneath their diapers that is, then I could write about it and call it a fantasy story. And in regards to writing about being a parent, there's not much to go on either. My quintessential parental insight basically comes down to one rule, namely "try not to kill kids". Well, there could be a funny angle to this, but it's more like a pun: "Today: tried not to kill kids, and barely succeeded." But that's about it.


Why didn't I jump in while I had more time? It's easy. I'm afraid. I'm afraid no one will care about the story I labored over, and worse, that it's an utter failure, and no one will care,  which is basically worse than having a million bad reviews. Having a sucky story and no reviews. Annoyed people still are an audience. If no one is annoyed, is it like the proverbial tree in the forest? Does my writing even exist? Seems like at the moment, I can't answer these questions.

Right, I do care a little too much for someone who doesn't put any effort in having their story published, don't I! Hah, maybe there is a grain of hope. A little one.

Are We Judgmental Bitches?

I read a post on Facebook a little while ago, about a young woman who had made the conscious decision not to have any children. I think she used the word never with some exclamation points. She wrote that afterwards she got a lot of headwind for openly refusing a life with children, and a backlash was sparked amongst mothers who allegedly have a big problem with that. She continued to appeal to the rules of a civilized and equal society, to let her do what she wants and just leave her be.

A reasonable request. I found myself wondering however to what extent the societal pressure she was talking about is an issue, if though a perceived reality it may be. Is it really other people, who make her feel badly about this decision, and by extension, is it even possible for other people to make us feel anything along the lines of doubt and insecurity?

First of all it seems to be pretty demure to not want something as a life choice. It's the opposite of needing stuff to exist. Some people think they need a Porsche to survive. In case of anything materialistic, usually people go for it or they don't, depending on the effort they are willing to put in. Either way in my experience, people generally don't really care about other people's harbored ambitions or even openly voiced desires.

We may take notice when you have something that we don't have, be jealous, or decide we want it too, but that's a different story. Most of the time, other people's aspirations don't even register - we're all much too concerned with what we want anyway.

Yes, sometimes mothers, parents, will appear judgmental, mostly in comparing their own parental style which they claim to find flawless, to other, allegedly inferior styles of parenting. This is what I think it's really about: being defensive about our own shit. Attacking not to be attacked.

I don't believe there's a single mother on planet Earth who thinks she's perfect. You may have days, moments, when you think, man, I'm great, I got this whole thing figured out, but the next minute you find your kid sitting in the corner, suckling on a beat-up cat toy and you think to yourself: damn, I'm raising a monkey. Stop licking the wall, Bingo.

Anyways, so what I think it comes down to is that parents are not in the business of judging anyone for refusing the whole child experience. We may think you're missing out on something big. Because we think it's pretty big. Parents don't know what they're missing out on by having children. Adventure, travel, the great escape? Just a wild guess. Childless people don't know what they're missing out on by not having them. There is no grounds for either of us to judge here.

Be that as it may, the declaration to adhere to a certain lifestyle, any lifestyle, for the rest of your life just isn't very reasonable. How often have you thought, OK, this is it, I'm settled, this is me. Life usually doesn't work on our terms. In case something completely surprising happens, and chances are that it will, our cores may be shaken, personalities will be disheveled and everything we thought we knew will be turned upside down.

So when it comes to life, there may be no other way than to stay flexible. It seems like a bad idea to close your mind to anything, even ideas that may seem bad or plain wrong at the time. They may appear more convenient a minute from now, or when things happen and you have to deal with the altered reality in front of you. Most of the time stuff happens despite our grand proclamations. And in a moment of crisis and change, we will find out we can deal with pretty much anything, and tackle things that are very different from our current agenda, our own prejudice, and yes, even those pesky children may add something to your life you never even imagined you'd love so much. Same goes for everything else of course. New doors open. It's out of our control when they do. And that's the terrifying and fantastic thing about life.

Weekend Writing Warriors: To Catch a Thief

Hey warriors, and welcome! First let me set up this next scene from Anoethau for you. It's from Chapter one, so we're moving back to the beginning of the story. MC Artie is an ex-con and a man of simple needs, and I guess to call the way he lives hermit-like would be a serious understatement. Gardening and growing fruit and vegetables in his backyard are his hobby, but much to his dislike, the neighbor's girl Melanie has had her eyes on the mouth-watering fruit of his raspberry bushes for quite some time. One day, as Artie comes out of the tool shed, he sees her bursting away from them.. 



"Hello Melanie," Artie said calmly, bending over towards the vines where the girl hid. The leaves rustled, and the bush seemed to stiffen as soon as he said the name out aloud. The girl couldn’t be much older than seven or eight, but he wasn’t exactly sure.

"Hope you enjoyed the raspberries."
 
After a while she came crawling out from behind the bushes and Artie noticed her face and hands being smeared with red stuff.
 
"You know, if you ask me, you can have some of my berries, and you won’t even have to hide while eating them."
 
"Ummmm," she said, and her face turned a much more intense shade of red. "Just don’t let me catch you stealing again…" he said, putting emphasis on the unspoken -or else… part.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Easy Confidence

Hey and welcome, warriors, this week I'm finally back with a snippet from Anoethau. Wheew! For plot reasons, I have to skip ahead a little. Last time, the mysterious woman Artie met in Southampton asked him to take her dog with him on his journey to Wales. For understandable reasons Artie declined, but out of compassion he now agrees upon watching her dog Cabby for a little while, in order for Eloise to run some errands...



“Let me give you some money for the day, so Cabby doesn’t eat you out of house and home.” She digged deep inside her handbag for coin, but Artie waved his hand at her, “you can pay me later if you want to, after I have done my job.” 
“I live over there in the house by the corner,” Eloise said, pointing past the busy street café. 
Artie immediately knew it when he saw it; the quaint, lilac house with the white balustrades and overgrown iron gate strangely met his expectations of this woman. 
“Well then, at least, let me give you this,” she said, holding a door key out to him.  
“You can take a bath or a shower, and wash your clothes instead of having to go back to your seedy motel. The fridge is well-stocked, and there are cans of Cabby's favorite food in the pantry; he likes to eat from his bowl, you know.” 
The dog regarded each of them with easy confidence, a sentiment that Artie himself did not share.

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50 Shades of Like

On Facebook, the like button has quickly become one of the most powerful tools for interaction. It's the holy grail, the ultimate symbol for success to get many likes on something. People are generously donating them when it comes to statuses, they're giving them away in abundance for their friends' vacation pictures, and the likes of it.

On the other end of the spectrum, people rarely give their like lightly (tongue twister!!) to big companies or products - even if they really like them. Maybe they fear it would make those companies too powerful, or them, a target for advertisement. But that's not all there is.


Likes are just as well used inflationary, or diametrically opposite, like a dangerous weapon; and sometimes even handled with kid gloves. And that's where the oddity of the whole like-issue comes into play. There are countless reasons and motivations. A like can say so much...

1. The sincere like


I saw a movie a zillion years ago, which I have fond memories of. That movie isn't well-known amongst film afficionados, and it never was a sales hit. I guess most of my friends don't know it, and if they did, I think the large majority of them wouldn't like it. It got a lot of bad reviews. They'd probably be a little embarrassed for me, that I like it. Still, I openly commit to it. But that's just one example. I hardly ever don't care! This is one of those rare and sincere likes, from the earlier days of Facebook.




2. The political like


There are some causes I openly affiliate with on Facebook - although the approach itself is not always something I fully stand behind. Still, I can like it, as a way of nailing my colors to the mast. As a matter of principle, The Newsroom got my like on Facebook - not because I love the series for its entertainment value (actually it could be better in that department), but because it makes some valid, and profoundly American points in regards to the current state of journalism, which I agree with. So it gets my like despite not reaching its full potential. The political like is the most ardent like of all. It says I like, I passionately like. And I generously overlook flaws, because the whole cause is important.





3. The awareness like


Cancer has a Facebook fanpage with more than 20.000 likes. Now, to be clear, these aren't exactly people who run around with Yay for Cancer sweatshirts. They like that page because they are aware of the disease's importance. On the spectrum of negatives, cancer is too important to ignore. Now, the freaky thing is, we needed Facebook to teach us a valuable lesson about denial: in fact, some things are important despite us not liking them, and that's why there is such a thing as a cancer fanpage. It's self-evident that people who like the page aren't sick sarcastic bastards who want others to die. They hate cancer, and that's why they create awareness by liking it.




4. The pity like


One of the worst likes there is, really. Unfortunately sometimes I get the feeling it's the most common and abused of them all. The pity like involves giving a thumbs-up to something you really don't like, but feel sorry for. Sometimes we mean well by pretending to like something. And then there is pity, which is a devious motivation, many a times. Paying tribute to someone for an achievement, although not viewing it as an achievement ourselves, is a flat out lie. The key word is ugly babies. Of course. I'm talking about liking an ugly baby, solely because we care for the people who created THAT. And since we know, they are happy with the outcome, it's no harm done in us liking the creature, right? Right?!!




5. The ambiguous like


There is a seamless transition from pity to schizo. The ironic, and malicious like, such as that pic of a haircut, which we really don't like, but pretend to like because it's so horrible, we're enchanted by its exoticism. Or the badly lit, blurred photo of still lifes, taken by the aspiring photographer, which we don't like but we say we do, because we think it's the best they can do. That like says something even meaner. It wants to express: you peaked, my friend. Better give it up. And the worst thing is, we intend to shut them up with our like!

However, if someone wants an honest or professional opinion about something, the best way is still to ask for it directly. Better than being crushed by a wave of insincere likes that could mean anything.

No? Yes?
       

Like if you agree ;)


To like or not to like - there is so much involved in this seemingly simple act. It's just one click, but it can tell us a myriad of things about the person doing it.

Modern-times critics believe that with further advancements in digital media, our humanly setup will change to the same extent as progress goes, in the sense that they expect us turning into socially stunted Kaspar Hausers at some point.


So far, I haven't noticed that being the case. Regardless of why we like or not like, not wanting to openly offend people's feelings still plays an important part in the world of social media, as in real life, and building consensus amongst our group is what we strive for.


Although sitting behind a screen, far far away from other people, we're aware that we are never detached from interactions we take part in. And yet, we fancy ourselves autonomous creatures! But like with any other choice in life, it really isn't an isolated event what we do, or when we do it. There is cause and effect in liking. We're, after all, primates, social animals, playing on the claviature of social complexities all the time.


And since empathy works across long distances - it's a good thing we have those likes being there, saying what they say, the most rudimentary form of communication. Even when they're insincere; Yes or No, that's what we're saying. Everything else is up to idle speculation. It's fun to think about, nevertheless!

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 1

The ringing of the phone took her by surprise, the person calling, however, didn't.
"You still there?" he snorted.
She looked across the room, the black handbag was yet to be zipped.
Like a signal from above, the ceiling light cast a spotlight on it, and the item she had put in last.
She would need both her hands to use it.
"Will you ever leave me?" he slurred, when the tavern row in the background died down for a moment, "or is it like that last time, when I had to come pick you up from the station,
remember that?"
Her hand choked the phone.
"Honey," she said, "I could never leave you."

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Welcome to another Sunday with WeWriWa and beautiful 8 sentence snippets. This week, I want to try something entirely different, it's an experiment. This is an attempt at telling a whole story in 8 sentences. Did I succeed? Please don't hold back, hit me with your comments and feedback! Happy Sunday everyone! :)

B.L.O.G. spells LOVE

2009 was the year Idiots and Earthquakes came into the picture, when I published my first ever blog post on the 6th of July. First steps, it was titled. 

I was unsure back then, as to blogging in English was such a good idea for me. First of all: blogging. Hubby and I set up this crazy vacation blog in 2007 and him and I had a blast writing it together. 

I never thought that I would have enough material to write a blog by myself and without a theme. As it turns out, life is an excellent inspiration. 

Secondly, blogging in English? Scary notion. I was adept at comprehending the language, thanks to the crazy amount of English fantasy books I had been reading, movies I had watched, and audiobooks I had listened to. 

Writing in English, I knew, was a different story, as it was a completely untrained muscle. I didn't have much practice, plus I didn't know a lot about writing. I knew I would need a lot of time.


 

Now, with close to four years of exercise under my belt, I have made some progress. I'm beginning to understand what I can and cannot do here on this blog. 





I believe that the early stage of my writing was distinguished by a more artful and spontaneous approach. 

Being green has its advantages and with time, I think I've lost some of that initial spark. I've gained some technical skills however, and I feel as though my intentions in presenting my thoughts have a better chance to come through. Still, the execution sometimes feels clunky compared to those of native speakers.

Why didn't I write in German? No snobbism. It was a question of audience more than anything else. I knew, that my German friends and family would have no problem "understanding" my English. But I didn't want to shut myself off to begin with. 

I'm still thinking about further developing a mean little political blog in German, since there is always room for debate about idiot politicians stomping around our political landscape, causing earthquakes. 

Who knows, once the amount of aggro in my rage bar hits a critical level, it might happen. For now, however, I am a happy blogger slash writer. Yes, this blog is much more than a sidekick to a possible writing career. It still is the main event.

I Got A Liebster (Yes, it's Denglish)

The Liebster award is one of those fantabulous blogger prizes given by bloggers to bloggers. Thank you Chris Kelworth for awarding me with it. Chris is a writer, a fellow Weekend Writing Warrior and a diligent blogger. Wheew, you're quite the busy bee! I think I have to award you with an Emsig; if there only was such a thing. :) I read up on the Liebster; it apparently derives from a German blogger tradition, given to "liebsten blogs" meaning "dearest" or "favorite" blogs. Awww. I'm touched. Thank you Chris. Now, in perfect Liebster tradition, I will answer 11 questions, and share 11 facts about myself.

1. Do you believe in ghosts/aliens/the supernatural? 

No, but I believe in axe murderers, rapists and mean people, hiding in the shadows out there to get me. I think I'd rather believe in aliens or a friendly little ghost...

2. Why do you blog?

I think I have stuff to say, interesting stuff. Yes, I think my brain is spectacular. And that's an understatement. Love youus, Frontal lobe!!

3. What's your favorite book series?

Hands down - His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. It's a shame that only The Golden Compass was made into a movie. I think it's one of the best fantasy series ever written.

4. If you could interview one celebrity, who and what would be your million dollar question?

The late Christopher Hitchens (on being brilliant): Is it lonely up there?

5. Pet Peeves? 

OK, I had to look up what that means. There are things I find annoying in other people, but mostly these are all things I am myself guilty of, like eating noisily, driving stupidly, or being a pain.

 6. Favorite Magazine?

The one and only magazine I ever subscribed to from mid to end 80's: Garfield!

7. Will you give me 100 $?

I'm flattered that you'd think me upper class. Stuff I could give you instead: A can of beans, a PEGI folder and/or a sparkling cat sticker.

8. Do you play any instruments?

I wish I did. Gave up playing my Bontempi organ career decades ago. And I didn't have the nerves to fully commit to learning the guitar.

9. What is the worst book you ever read?

Maybe this one.

10. What's with all the cats?! 

My cats are my children. Now leave me alone.

11. How's that 100 $ coming along?

Didn't you like the sparkling cat sticker?

+11 random facts you never wanted to know

➊ I'm a teeth grinder - at night my mouth becomes a grain mill. I wonder what it grinds. Story bits, hopefully.

➋ I once tried saving the world - me and some friends of mine reported a local drug dealer to the police when we were teens.

➌ I'm a movie nut - I like to dissect acting and story. Loudly. That's why I rarely go to cinemas. I'm banned for life.

➍ I'm a spiritual sponge - the bathroom is my place of inspiration.

➎ I'm shy - I don't like to use my phone in public.

➏ I'm a woman - but there was a time when I thought I resembled a dog.

➐ I'm German - born and raised.

➑ I can be a bit of a stalker, I was when I met my husband - Hey, I just met you. And I am crazy. Got your number: will call you daily.

➒ I prefer audiobooks to books, for the simple fact that I like being read to.

➓ I get Tobey Maguire and Elijah Wood confused on a regular basis. I think they share more than a similarity in demeanor, I bet it's the exact same whiny DNA!!

➊➊ I don't have 100 Dollars.


As you may know I do have my very own special tagging tradition for awards. We should all have fun doing these things and be free and willing to participate, not feel forced due to being nominated. If you read this, and you haven't gotten a Liebster award - consider yourself tagged!

Weekend Writing Warriors: Little White Hilt

Welcome writers, for today is the first Sunday of Weekend Writing Warriors! Squee!! I'm so thrilled and excited to making the rounds, being a happy blog-hopping bee and all! So, for the first WeWriWa, what could be more appropriate than a story about a man who found an ancient and magical weapon in his vegetable patch? Since he's out on parole, he tries to get rid of it quickly, but of course, with magical weapons, it's not as easy as throwing away gum wrapper: this is Artie Kendrick, and the Little White Hilt, sword of myth & legends.

 

He turned it within his palm, and the moon cast his light on the upper part of the blade. Artie's gaze fell upon an engraving on the steel.

He felt the roughness between his fingers, cold and sharp – when the letters came alive in front of his mind’s eye; a message, reflecting from the surface of the river, a voice, murmured from the far side of the reed.

“Take....me....up...”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What kind of trick was this? 

A stir went through the river bank. Someone - or something - came tearing through the reeds.

Thank you for visiting me and please help yourself to some of our brand-new wewriwa badges at www.wewriwa.com

WeWriWa, We're Coming!

Let's do this - is usually not one of my signature lines. In life I tend to move like a very slow, hesitant tortoise. Change scares me, and I'd rather look the other way when I encounter it walking along the waterfront - I'm speaking figuratively of course. (Who is as crazy as to walk on the banks? Haven't you seen The River Wild with Kevin Bacon?) 

Anyways, sometimes a ball gets thrown at your face so fast, you either have to catch it or let it smack your nose. I caught it - and now, I do find myself doing this. Actually we are; we, that is Teresa Cypher of Dreamers, lovers, and Star Voyagers, Marcia Kuma of Letter Go and myself. 

We have been composing a brand-new website, following in the footsteps of the soon-to-be ending Six Sentence Sunday, but with one exception. Instead of six sentences our harsh executive admin (aka Hartman) will be allowing eight sentences. With WeWriWa we want to encourage all kinds of writers, new and old, hairy and bald to sign up on Weekend Writing Warriors for the first round of blog hopping, which will start on February 3.

The great thing is to be able to share your writing in a very friendly, laid-back atmosphere, and take a look around the blogs of other participants, writers of all genres and styles. It can be extremely helpful putting a spotlight on a marked-out piece of writing. If you want honest and blunt feedback, you'll get it, if you want to be hugged by a fellow kindred spirit, you'll get that, too. The most important thing is that it's fun!

Clandestine poets, sassy romance writers, SciFi buffs, fantasy enthusiasts, and freestyle think tanks: we dare you to share your 8 with us. There will be a winner chosen from those who sign up, and we'll award that person a special prize. Excited? We are!

NaNoWriMo: Trash and Tragedies

So, I realized something today. Once I have written down something and locked it as far as the story goes, it is hard, not to say close to impossible for me to "un-think" it. I don't like to drop ideas, partly because I'm lazy but also because I tend to consider myself grandiose enough to deem everything I come up with a treasure.

Today I had to tie in some loose ends, and frankly, some of the ideas just didn't make sense anymore. So, while it is hard to say goodbye to "story trash" it's better to drop it than to keep something that would screw with the basic idea for purely nostalgic or ego reasons. I realize now, that this story is far from what I wanted or expected it to be when I started writing it. It is simultaneously the only thing and the worst thing I will have finished thus far. Yes, this realization was quite painful.

I naively underestimated how much there was to learn when I started writing for an audience bigger than myself and the potted plants in my room. But I'm not waving the flag of defeat, quite the opposite. Now I feel like I can really get started. This was the thing holding me back towards actually becoming a (real) writer.

Nah No Write More

After having written chunks for NaNoWriMo, what could be better than - right - blogging about it as a distraction? The thing is, since my fingers are already in training, there is no reason why I shouldn't  write more, and get them in really good muscle shape for tomorrow. I figured that it's the same as cultivating horny skin on your fingers when playing the guitar.


Thus far, the writing-a-novel-in-a-month experience has been positive. I am not as behind as I thought I would be after having a late start. This is a completely new story I am working on. I had several ideas for what I wanted to write, one was a semi-biographic 1990s inspired homage to grunge music (a crossing between Almost Famous, My So-Called Life, and snippets from my own life), and I might still write that some day, but for now, I need a more plot-driven story with some room to freestyle in between pivotal points, worthy of at least 50000 words.


So, surprise, surprise, I'm writing a fantasy story, and it will be titled Anoethau.

The hero is a bit older this time, male and an ex-convict... after all the "girl action" on The Days Adrift I'd say this is more than welcome. And it feels good to write about manly things for a change.

The difficult thing is that with the goal of having a certain amount of words in the end, I can't edit as I go along, which is something I usually do. This challenge is about finishing something, and doing the editing afterwards. You wouldn't believe how hard that is...I am a neat freak, and I need cleaned up sentences, not the verbal excrements of a first draft. I have to force myself to not look back all the time, which is a challenge all in itself.

We'll see how it goes.

Bring Back The Dead G(r)eeks

Plato's Academy

According to philosophy there is a designated approach to thinking about the world, with defined objectives and methods to understanding reality. Thinking itself is as old as humanity, some even say, it's older than anything else that exists in the materialized world. I must say I'm not that fixated on the meta aspect of it, but we can safely assume that it's as least as old as the old Greeks.

Methodic thinking is the cradle of everything we are, and everything we have accomplished as a species.
Isn't it a bit weird that the important questions we ask ourselves have already been asked by our Greek forefathers? They found answers according to their timeline and state of knowledge, but they knew very little compared to what we know today.

Yet somehow there is this incredible boldness in what a Thales of Miletus or an Anaximander thought about the world, what it was made of. Thales thought water to be the basic element of all things and the Earth itself to be a disc floating on water like a raft, Anaximander coined the term "matter" in a much broader sense, thinking that no specific element but matter itself was the basis for everything that exists.

The Greek table of elements

They knew nothing about atoms, but they had a theory - much like the experimental physicists do today, trying to "split" the world of atoms in subatomic degrees. Unlike today, the philosophers of ancient Greece were all scientists, mathematicians and physicists trying to back up their worldview with science. Today there is this partition wall between science and philosophy - the latter doesn't produce any usable results, numbers and figures on its own, thus has sadly degenerated into a theoretical exercise at universities alone.


Ideally, a modern scientist should be detached from all things ideological, especially his own hopes or expectations for finding an answer. This is so completely un-Greek!

Did Socrates' beard attract groupies?

Today's scientists can be philosophers only in their spare time. That strikes me as both strange and a bit ungrateful, because philosophy is responsible for us asking those questions, as it teaches us how to find out things about the world.
Yet it appears that over time, science accumulated the tools of the trade and ran with them. It's OK, I don't have a beef with science - although it evolved based on the (Borg) principles of assimiliation and compliance. Sometimes though, I wish there was a way to summoning the spirit of the Greeks back into our daily lives. Not only for the sake of knowledge, but for wisdom's sake - to remind us of the timeless relevance there is in understanding the world and its workings. Because sometimes we tend to forget why we want to know things, unlike the Greeks; their whole culture revolved around that aspect. It was a proud trait to think, a useful and esteemed quality to be able to speak one's mind in debate. I imagine that Plato's students got lots of tail for being the think-stars of their time. (Nowadays philo students are laughed at for being too lazy to do something useful-)


What is more useful than thinking? It's the value of wanting to know something, stating a theory out of curiosity; and even the celebration of finding out that they were wrong that made them reach for the stars - which, according to ancient Greek astronomy, consisted of fire, caught in bowls.

Strife is the father of all things, sundering itself, coalesces with itself, like the harmony of the bow and the lyre. - Heraclitus

Six Sentence Sunday: Storms In Quiet Places

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Hey lovely Sixers, here we are again, sharing our wonderful Sunday tradition. This week it's part #11 of The Days Adrift - and ->this is what happened last time. We are back in the boat with Brita, Tams and that other girl telling her story. :) Feel free to share your thoughts with me, I do appreciate all of your comments.


There is...something. I can see it now, a shape emerges, approaching the keel from deep within the white wafts. It is lengthy and even and..."Outpost!!! Outpost!! Outpost!!!" Brita jumps up and down on the bow, the bottles roll on the floor in disarray. It is a small landing stage...I can't believe it. 
Tams collapses onto the bench right in front of me, she quivers like a branchlet shaken by storm.

Six Sentence Sunday: Hell-bent On Giving Up

Hey there lovely Sunday Sixers, here we are again! Whew, the weeks fly by quickly, and as I'm mentally preparing for Nanowrimo I feel like I have to do some preliminary work for my Sunday Six excerpts. So this week, it's another double-six snippet from The Days Adrift, part #10. Feel free to comment, critique and share your thoughts! :)
->This is what happened last week.


"Don't throw it all out," I say, a tad insulted, "we may still need some of those things." Like an excavator, Tams grabs the lot of empty bottles and all of our shoes - the good shoes. 
A single sneaker falls off of her arms. "Stop it!" but she seems to be in some sort of frenzy. "We need shoes, you twerp." 
She pauses and stares at me, that scary glare in her eyes, the one telling me that she's hell-bent on giving up.
"Guys!" 
As she leans over the rail, I yank her arm from behind, hard. She stumbles, loses her balance and falls back with a thump. 
"Guys!!!" Brita yells, her voice is cutting capers. She gestures dramatically. Tams lies on top of my legs, amidst scattered shoes and bottles. Brita's incessant screech has become a hoarsely squeal; it pierces right through my ears.
What in the world is she pointing at?

Six Sentence Sunday: Grave Goods

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Huzzah Sunday Sixers! Today it's back to the usual length and format of the Six Sentence Sunday snippets. And this week also, I'll crack open Chapter 4 of The Days Adrift, my story about three girl-fugitives at sea, running from the turmoil of war and the crime they committed. This is what happened ->last time. Let's move on forward to part #9. Feel free to share your thoughts, any thoughts! :)


4.

"You're doing a great job, girl," Tams says, leaning over the keel to rinse one of the empty water bottles. 
"Do you think we will make it?" It does sound incredibly small and stupid, now that I say it out loud. Tams looks at me bleakly, in calm defeat. No, of course not.  
She grabs the bloodstained hammer from under the plastic cover, dumps it in the water and watches as it sinks into the abyss; already cleaning up for the ship burial, aren't we?

Six Sentence Sunday: Cold Fog, Rising

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Hey there Sunday, Sunday Sixers! How are you all doing today? I admit, I have been absent more often than not these last few weeks. Today, I'll share a longer excerpt to make up for it. :) This is a whole scene, and the end of chapter 3 of The Days Adrift, my YA novel WIP. ->Last time the main character almost lost herself to the water, but Brita, one of the other two girls on board pulled her back into the boat at the very last second. This time, the protagonist struggles to find her place in this dire situation, being lost out at sea.
Your comments & criticisms are very helpful and precious to me, and I want to encourage you again to share each and any thought you have. Thank you.


There is no sign of an outpost, no sign of anything in the dense morning fog. Tams unscrews the last bottle of water and hands it over to me. 

"Here." 

I get feeling she knows as well as I that we are completely lost. She doesn't have as much sailing expertise on her back, but she still knows me.

The nagging look she gives me doesn't fail to remind me that there is something to be done about the situation, something on my part. I mean, what does she expect?

Oh my, poor little Brita sits at the bow and stares across the water like a watchdog, turning her head left and right, so as not to miss any signal above ocean level. 
There is none. There hasn't been one for over a week. 
After days without food we are narrowed to a weak signal ourselves.

Are we just waiting to die out here?

I remember, I was only five years old, when my father took me out boating for the very first time. I loved every minute of it. We went deep-sea fishing the following summer, and he let me help throw out the net. Back then I could barely reach the fiddle with my nose.

At the age of ten, I knew how to steer a motorized boat, with twelve I could easily find my way home without the help of the stars; he told me to keep an even keel to where the cold fog rises.

At fourteen he pronounced me seaworthy and presented me with my own captain’s hat. He would mess up my hair, and then put it on my head...

Dad... 

In a desperate maneuver I turn the cockleshell northeast, towards the soon to be rising sun; an even keel to where the cold fog rises.
It's a long shot, but it's the only chance we have.

"Let's head towards Old Venice." 

I barely recognize my own voice. 
Brita turns around in surprise and she claps her hands, cheering me on. "Old Venice, here we come!"  

Exude confidence when captaining -always.

How could I ever forget? 

My whole body shivers as I reach for the handle to resume my post. I can never tell whether it is from the cold or from hunger.

I look over at Tams and she smiles at me, through slight wafts of mist.

Barely Political Lolcats

As writers, we do what we are supposed to do, at least most of the time. We write stuff. Oftentimes we get sidetracked, and do other things instead, like eye-googling the internet, watching Youtube, getting lost somewhere on the sidebars between music videos and TED. I love all that! No one expects us to be in razor-sharp focus all the time - after all, we are not journalists. We do want to deliberately entertain, te-hee! 

And although I do suspect there is a very fine line between bloggers, columnists and journalism people in general, there is one tiny distinction, that makes all the difference. As a writer of fiction and a blogger I shall be solely entertaining, because that is the job description.

Bloggers are split in different categories, they can be a) the extremely informative kind or b) the entertaining kind. You have to chose one side to be enjoyed and tolerated by the masses, you can't ever be both. If you are an extremely informative blogger, you may set out to write an (informative) book, and, chances are good, your book will be read by the people who also read your blog. You can make a joke, or two in the book, but don't overdo it; you are not Robin Williams, after all.

For someone like me, set out to do a fun little blog with rants, and reviews every now and again, plus snippets from my writing, it would be a serious mistake to be all too political. Being informative, I dare say, being political, scares fun-loving people too much, to respond positively or respond at all. Their job - their reputation is on the line, being openly affiliated with a person of such-and-such political values. And we all know that the Reps hate it, too. You have to play out your ideals in private, not where everyone else can see them. 

Thanks to social media we have become closeted again, hiding our true selves, because of what is and is not accepted. It started with people sharing the same things on Facebook, over and over again. Positive things, things that are indisputable. "Life is good." "Cats are funny." "Enjoy yourself." That's fine, I do that myself, because I don't have to think about the consequences.

The problem is that is has gotten to a point where even the attempt at dispute itself is frowned upon. No one dares to say anything that goes against the prevailing opinion. Righty, lefty. It's seems OK to be openly religious, because you get the vote of the majority that way. It's still not OK, not to believe in God. People think you're weird or a psychopath. People only dare to speak up in their like-minded circles about their collective dirty little secrets. You lose readers that way, being openly diverse, not playing towards the rules of the swirling consensus. It is simply unaccepted.

People give their thumbs up only for things that they themselves do, are and stand behind. And the choice for that is what everyone else does or does not like. We are like a swarm of bees. People like to see their own life choices confirmed. As a writer, I would need to mirror that for bonus points, and then I'd definitely get the friendly nod of approval. Quid pro quo. I find that disgusting. 

It's the end of free speech as we (may never have) known it. It's Germany, in 1938. It starts out with silent disapproval and it ends with pogrom and persecution. Nowadays, people lose jobs, because they openly share their political opinions at work. Your boss can't differentiate being a boss and being human at the same time - all the time - and unfortunately the same dynamics apply there as they do on the internet. You are what you say, not what you do. A big mouth attached to a suit. It means you will get fired if you say something he doesn't agree with. The rules of conformity nearly demand it.

Lately, I feel the same way here on my blog, gagged, curtailed. I don't get paid for my writing, which makes it even worse. I worry about possibly not getting paid in the future for saying what I think right now. I can't write like that, I can't live like that. This goes against the freedom of thought as much as it goes against free speech. Solution a) would be to play by the rule, solution b) would be to change the rule. I say, change the rule. I know full well, that by saying this, it may very well be the last post you ever want to read from me. That's unfortunate. But it doesn't mean I shouldn't take the chance to speak up, as long as I still can.