Teresa is sick so I’m going camping instead.  When I was at the store it was all I could do to keep myself from — What do you call that where you jump up and click your heels together?  Fortunately I was wearing my red clogs and didn’t want to risk injury.  I am so loving all the annual events this season.  Did I mention I made strawberry shortcake? 

I realized, in the store, what makes this year so great is that last summer my house was on the market from June until October and between moving, which I did in increments, and getting the landscaping finished so it would sell, I didn’t have much of a summer.  And the summer before I had a new boyfriend so we did a lot of fun things but they were all new things, his things.

So this summer I’m not gonna miss any of my favorite traditions.  I’m going to camp at a place I used to take my first dog swimming.  I was a pretty good swimmer and when we lived at this beach I’m going to, I’d take my Springer Spaniel to this lake and she and I would swim out pretty far.  God I loved doing that.  I wasn’t sure whether I was more like her or she was more like me but we were tight.  We’d get out in the middle of the lake and fool around.  I’d swim straight for her and our noses would touch.  She loved it.  Not far from there — This is where the dunes are — I knew a secret trail and she and I would walk probably three miles up and over this huge dune, in the middle of nowhere, then I’d have to get down on my hands and knees in some places and crawl through the animal trails to get to the ocean.  I probably won’t be going there, except to look at the dunes.

Smores, I’m having smores!!!!  And I’ll cook a steak and baked potato over the fire.  I just bought a bag of Ceasar salad.  I kind of like the dressing and packets of cheese and croutons.  I don’t use the lettuce, it’s gross.  I’m picking up some smoked salmon.  I like that on Ritz crackers with a little cream cheese and garnish of chives.  Mmmmm.  On Wednesday nights I started taking a diet Coke to class so I could sit there from 6:00 – 10:00 without nodding off.  It’s about the only time I drink pop.  But in the store I saw the cutest miniature cans.  Maybe I’ll get one of those airplane-sized bottles of Jack Daniels to mix with it.  I even got excited buying plastic cups and plates.  Shit, I forgot the utensils.  Wait, I have a set of camping utensils — Yellow, sturdy ones in a cute bag.  I got peaches, cherries, watermelon, pineapple, red grapes, and mango for a salad I can make ahead.  I’ll have bacon and eggs one morning, with toast.  Actually, that will be lunch.  I’m just gonna go out for a latte in the mornings.  Then I’ll come back and make my fire and WRITE.  I’m extremely anxious to write the thing about where someone comes to your door for the Creative Writing Challenge or whatever it’s called.

I signed up for that and never have seen my name on the list.  Then  I voted, on two separate occassions, but never saw the winning subject, until today.  And now I’m leaving.  Oh, well.  I have come to enjoy writing in notebooks.  I bought one at the grocery store.  I’m itching to get at it. 

I’ll be back Friday.  I’m gonna miss you bad.

I totally forgot to mention and thank bastetmax  for recommending Christopher Vogler’s “The Writer’s Journey.”  It was the perfect thing for me to read but it’s taking me forever because every other page is some crucial thing I have to think about. 

I’ve been mulling this over.  It was part of an e-mail I got in response to my mention of his comfort level with writing.

He wrote:  “And I’m not sure I ever want to become too comfortable either.  I know I’m comfortable enough once I find the heat of the words.  But outside of that…the comfort of knowing my process…”

“The comfort of knowing my process” really stayed with me.  And I thought about what my process was, if I had one.  I think I’m trying everything once.  Since I didn’t know the beginning of the story, I started in the middle with a pretty linear approach.  But once I started coming up against some pretty big gaps – There were places I had to wait on because I didn’t know what was going to happen – I switched to writing the parts I was sure of, and one day I got to this one line and I knew it was the last line.  So then I had to go back and start hooking things up, finding segues and deciding, like with a movie, when to cut to the next scene, and what that should be; the order of events.  And like with the rhythm of the words, I had to find a rhythm for switching scenes.  The work I sent to my teacher had the third edit and that was putting all the description in and changing from present to past tense.  I really prefer using both tenses at once, even though I know that’s the kiss of death.  I don’t mean in the same sentence but, for the sake of immediacy, I like to switch into first.

I started with writing 1500 words a day.  This was for Nanowrimo.  Every morning I’d edit what I wrote the day before.  And I like to do it that way.  But when I went back, after about 4 months – I wasn’t doing anywhere near 1500 words during the holidays – I found all kinds of things that needed fixing, things that had looked okay the next morning.  I can fuss with stuff a lot and I think it keeps getting better.  But I know there comes a point when I can look at something one too many times and can’t tell shit about it.  So I stay way away from that.

Because my story covers so many years, I am looking at a way to have the early years be part of the backstory instead of the beginning.  And I’m getting into this thing where the characters have secrets from each other, as a way to create tension.  So much to learn. 

So how do YOU do it?  Tell me what works for you, whether it’s a short story, poetry, whatever.  I’m especially curious about the poetry process because, for the life of me, I don’t know how that’s supposed to happen.  Please forgive “supposed,” you know what I mean.

After reading Paulygrl’s comment I must add that only during Nanowrimo did I wake up, come down, and sit here until 1500 new words hit the page.  And it only lasted a month.  After the contest was over my word count dwindled.  Some days I didn’t even work on it.  Then Christmas came and a week would go by.  I became estranged from my characters.  But the classes have really helped and I am hard at it now.  Never again will I leave my characters for that long.

It’s about time they got this thing working.  I’ve been very patient and haven’t complained much but, really.  Say, I just posted something that’s protected.  If you can’t see it and you’re over 18, let me know.

I’m in love with my puppy.  I’m not sure why but she’s being so good.  It’s probably a combination of things.  For one thing I know I started out never wanting Bella to be jealous so between always loving Bella up and all the reprimanding that went on during the two months it took to house-train her, not to mention the constant bringing sticks inside and chewing them up — All she ever heard was “bad dog.”  Poor thing.  But now when I wake up and come down the floor is clean and she hears “Good girl.”  And now that Bella’s gone we are going for walks every day.  Duh, that’s it.  It’s the walks.  She’s not so bored now and doing bad stuff to get attention. 

I’m back.  She and I went to the corner store for a candy bar and ice-cream sandwich.  Yes, they were both for me.  Being svelte doesn’t seem to be a priority lately. 

Tonight I took her for a training session.  First I let her run around chasing birds down by the river.  We went to the side where there are no people and it’s just a path in between fields of clover.  I worry about the fact that she can’t see what’s under all the tall grasses.  I think there are big rocks in there.  And you know how German Shorthairs have those skinny legs, like a little horse.  She went bounding through there like a rabbit, leaping instead of hopping.  There’s a certain kind of bird my dogs always like to chase:  the little ones that taunt them, flying real low calling out, “Catch me if you can.”

She probably was still too worked up over that but I had training treats:  bacon flavored.  So she came in a hurry.  I’m working on walking, both on and off the leash, at a heel.  For some reason she does better off the leash.  She tried real hard — It’s the only time she gets those treats – but then she saw those damn birds again, flying low over the river.  I’ve been trying to get her to swim but even with Bella out there she would never go in.  The sun was setting and I stood by the shore doing a little energy work when all of a sudden I heard this splash.  She had jumped in and dropped deep enough that she was having to figure out how to swim.  I’m adding all the encouragement of a mother at her kid’s first swim lesson but she gets back to land right quick (I sound like an 80 year-old dog trainer).

I tell her how exciting that was and about that time here comes a mother and her ducklings, all in a row, swimming to our side of the river.  They’re making pretty good time and I’m thinking the mother’s betting on Bridget not wanting to get wet again.  She was wrong. 

Bridget heads out but there isn’t the sudden drop-off like last time.  The minute it gets deep she backs up.  Then the little talking bird comes back and flies in close.  Bridget heads out again, trying a new direction.  Again it’s a gradual deepening and she carefully backs up.  We do the leash thing back to the car and when I get her home she’s all uncomfortable with being wet.  Too bad.  So maybe it’s instinct, and maybe she was thinking she was pretty hot shit, having gone swimming an’ all, but she commenced to run in circles, round and round this seating arrangement in the middle of that big room I showed you (with all the brick).  She was euphoric and then she was dry.

I’ll tell you one more animal story, but this is about my cat.  I stayed up late reading thenarrator‘s story — Can you believe how good he is? — and finally went up to bed and just as I was nodding off I hear my cat crying.  She never does that so I jumped out of bed and turned the light on.  She was standing at the foot of my bed with a dead shrew.  At least I thought it was dead until it ran into my closet and hid among the shoes.  The cat looks around but gets distracted with these boots that have rabbit fur around the edges.  So then I have to crawl in there and root around but the damn thing is nowhere.  I’m picking up shoes and shaking them out thinking that would be a good hiding place.  I realize I’ll never find the thing; that it will die in there and when it really starts to stink, then the cat will find it.  Hopefully, she will still want it.

I want to tell you about Shgay.  I don’t even know how to spell her name, and it took me all night to figure out how to say it so I’ll just call her “Friday girl.”  That’s how she introduced herself because she volunteers every Friday.

Tonight I went to the 17th annual Breast Cancer Outreach Program potluck dinner.  I don’t think the program has been in existence that long, but it was 17 years ago today that Chris, our group’s founder, was diagnosed.  We volunteer in two hospitals so because we don’t all know each other there is the obligatory speech about who we are and how we contribute.  When it was “Friday Girl”‘s turn I gave her my full attention.  She is Japanese and has only been in this country a few years so her English takes close listening. 

She explained that she was trained by Gertie and that at the end of her training Gertie said, “You must make sure that you never come in unless you are in a place where you can enjoy the work.”  I paraphrased and am disappointed with what I lost in translation.  But Friday Girl closed with something so tender — And Gertie died last month so it was even more tender — she said that as she prepares to leave the house Friday morning, she checks to make sure she has joy in her heart.

I had an interesting evening last night.  I went to this coffee shop in West Linn where they have live music on Saturday nights.  It sucked but –And this was the coffee shop I wrote from when my computer was down — I had a pleasant conversation with a young woman who took my seat at the computer long enough for us to get to talking.  She ended up turning me onto a good place to listen to music.  She was telling me about it and said, “Here, you can just email it to yourself.”  She put all her info down at the bottom of the e-mail.  When things like that happen I get nervous but then I think how exciting it is to bump into someone I’m probably supposed to meet. 

I can’t imagine why, though.  She looked like she was in her 20s but she said she was 32.  She and her girlfriend (who was the singer) were talking about a place I used to frequent.  It was back when I was still dancing some and on Wednesday nights we would all go to the Egyptian Club.  One of the dancers was in charge of choosing three dancers to perform each week.  The place was a complete dive and I loved it, but the band hated it.  The front was a lesbian bar and the back was where they had odd-ball performances (Years before I’d attended some sort of theatre thing back there). 

So every Wednesday I would make my way past the pool tables, down the long hall which led to the big green door.  There was a $4 cover and whoever was taking money that night would be sitting with the woman doing henna.  I’d watch for a bit, sitting up high on the bar stool with the money taker and the hand painter. Everyone knew each other and it was fun to greet people as they came in.  So we’d chat while she got my change and then I’d go find Rebecca. The bar was against the back wall.  The whole room, ceiling and everything was painted black so no one saw you until you were right up next to them.  I really liked the anonymity of it.  Above the bar were those lights that look like flickering flames but they’re really just a piece of cloth blowing from the fan. 

“Rebecca” made great drinks (lesbian bartender we always gave a huge round of applause to) and at the break the band leader would come talk to me.  There was always someone to dance with who remembered me and the music was soooooo good.  I’d have a couple Jack and cokes and I think people kind of kept an eye on me because once I started moving around a little, getting ready to go up, they’d come and grab me.  If I hadn’t danced in a while I’d make like “I really shouldn’t.”  But then they’d press on and up I’d go.  God I miss that place.

Who knows, maybe I’ll give this new place a try.  Maybe I’ll even e-mail that girl.  Nah.

Since I can’t comment, I’m posting.  You know, I was thinking about how this effects us, this lack of interaction.  And I thought about the people who never comment.  Okay, who almost never comment.  And I think this might be a good thing.  Typically they are better than average writers and maybe they are just writing for themselves.  But you can bet they’ll miss our comments.  Just like we miss their’s.

I see they took the site down for “an hour Friday morning.”  You’d think they would at least acknowledge things are not working.  I’ve been a member since last fall and can’t remember this long of a down-time.  Some of you wrote things I’m anxious to comment on.

Is it just me or is Xanga screwed up?  This is the second time I’ve tried to comment and it’s not possible.  Brenda, I just tried yours and feel beyond compelled to reach you.  I will try to copy and paste your post into my e-mail.  Right after I get back from the movies.  As for the rest of you, I saw some really great writing here today.  Can’t wait to tell you in a comment.

This is how safe I feel here.  I am going to show you the poem I wrote for my daughter’s book on color, knowing nobody but her English teacher would see it and think it hers.  And the point to my showing you is purely educational. 

My first question is why does it look fine until I hit submit?  Because placement is everything here, how do you move things around?

Secondly, I seem to have arrived at some sort of rhythm, do you call it meter?  I don’t think so I think meter is how many lines.  See, I don’t really care for poetry, or I didn’t.  But when I did that first one for Bella it was pretty satisfying.  I was so busy looking at the constraints I missed the opportunities.  And something about the whimsy appeals to me.

But my rhythm falls apart at the end.  But I like the end.  But it’s the end so I don’t want to create a second part with this new, shorter rhythm.  Poetry’s hard, huh.

Anyway,  here’s      

Jewels in a Pot

I promised I wouldn’t,                                                     not at this house.

Ferns and trees and an acre of bushes.

But spring came and perennials bloomed:                               daffodils, tulips, and iris.

Then they were gone and the garden was bare,                and somehow my car found its way to the nursery.

“I’ll just look,” I said to myself,                                             fondling the pansies and trailing lobelia.

Like jewels in a necklace,                                              my flowers in their pot:                    

yellows and purples and shades inbetween.

Every morning as I back out

I slow down to take a look

at that broken promise

of jewels in a pot.