A Reprise

The marsh

I am sitting by a marsh, breaking my long silence in Winter Light. I asked myself, what could I write that was worth reading? I still do not know, but I write now to record a moment. Darkness has lain heavily on me, but here there is no darkness. I am sitting in winter light-- a cold, clear half-light that can never satisfy. I wonder why I always come here in winter, when it is so brown and dead. I guess I come here in the summer, too, but my feeling of acute longing for the place isn't the same. I will confess my worries to the trees: Health, which always submits to the passage of time. Mortality, so transient. Death, intangible. Purpose, which will drive me to madness. Age, which is only imaginary. Love, which will break me again and again. I don't know-- I don't understand what it is you do. But I am here, and as soon as I find the way to you I will be there. Even though I don't understand anything-- not why life must be this way, why things fall as they do. The wi

I play what I know of the D scale .

O Tannenbaum Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . My little desktop Christmas tree.

Nathan's fire course at Portofino Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Flaming duck. The best restaurant in DFW.

There's no magazine I've ever revered so much as Victoria. Like everything else I treasured in my teenaged years it disappeared around the year 2000. However, I was too distracted with school and other issues even to notice. In fact, I had stopped buying it. In October I found all my old issues at my mother's house and when I started reading them again, the old magic returned to me-- all my dreams of how I would dress and decorate my home "when I grew up." Well, I now know how unfeasible it is to serve my sugar lumps with silver tongs and wear lace-covered blouses everyday, not to mention trying their recipes, which call for things like artichokes and truffles, yet I think my home and person still do a good job in preserving the Romanticism of Victoria. I have a little under two years' worth of Victoria issues. I am going back and re-reading them, on the correct month. Not only can I remember all I felt and all I did at that time, I become overwhelmed with th

My thoughts on completing Cambriel .

I am listening to The Tension and the Spark-- I have not listened to it since last winter. It fills me with bleakness. As Elton John says, "Sad songs say so much," and we love them. I love them. The weather is laden with heaviness. Even though the darkness indicates winter, the mornings are balmy, but there's the feeling that at any moment it will be cold again. A true Indian Summer. I am finishing Cambriel soon. At the last moment several things came up, and I began to think I must write another 50K to finish it. Not so. This thing will be done in three days, whether it should be or not. I'm ready to have those two hours every day back, thanks very much. It's been a wild ride. This is the most diverse book I've written. I know that's a dangerous word, but really. So far I have lived out my gothic circus fantasy and part of my unicorn fantasy, my walking along a crumbling, deserted Interstate fantasy (though I did that in fact this summer) and a whole lot

I can't believe I'm almost done with this novel. I don't want to speak too soon, but I have certainly never gotten this far on a non-traditional story before. Today I was absorbed totally in my world, and I think I am going to be really depressed when it's done in December-- though I'm sure I'll get over it when I realize I don't have to show up at my computer 5:30 every morning. I have some great photography ideas coming up. I can't wait to set up my photo cube and start trying them out. My ironing board is not necessary to the living room now that I'm off of sewing presently (an activity better for warmer months, when my fingers aren't cold), so I will replace it with the cube. I can't wait to go to Louisiana tomorrow! My favorite state in the whole world. These eyes will see bayous and swamps in less than two days. The thought gives me a thrill. I think of it as Blanche's home, and Jenny's, and Hennessy and Charles, Christopher, Qu

My NaNoWriMo motivational email this morning proclaimed that if you are at 35K, you will definitely win. I am actually 400 words away from that number. This week has been so hard. I have not let the sun go down on me once without a cap on my goal, but it has been at the expense of my health, hygiene, and fun. I don't even think about wearing the same pantyhose two days in a row anymore. And that darkling hour-- 5:30 am-- it's really hell. I never have any idea what I will write, and the clock is ticking. This may be one of the last Palm-based posts I write for a while. I am so upset to be giving up my Rose for what will probably be weeks, but she must be fixed. Meanwhile I discovered some new gothic literature communities on Livejournal that really have me excited. I can't wait to read Carmilla. I see this happening on a pillow by the window with tea. I have a lot of things I need to do this weekend. This month, I am living only for Cambriel, and getting distracting chores

This morning was very romantic as I wrote. The sun was rising, and it was incredibly windy. It sounded like the siding would blow off. It was hard to say it was beginning to rain because the wind was so much more noticeable than the rain. It led to good inspiration, and I almost completed my word count, amazingly. I have not bathed in three days, but that's okay. I have got to update my outline this evening. I am coming up blank on the future of Cambriel and my word count was supposed to come easier halfway through the story. According to my NaNoWriMo motivational emails, once you cross the half-way point, it's downhill from there. I don't think so! I even did what I really didn't want to do-- I introduced a new character. He's necessary to the story, but I don't like him. One thing about all my characters is that I love all of them, passionately. Some of them may be evil, but they still possess great beauty. This character is not like that. I'll try to shap

Inspired by the book I am reading I decided to do my own Labyrinth ball plagiarism-- who better to do the Goblin King than my own Shelley? I like my vision very much-- but the pacing fell through somewhere along the way. This story is filled with fantastical visions interspersed with scenes mundane in the extreme. I am satisfied with it. At 5:30 in the morning I can't ask for more than that. It's hard to believe that by the end of this month Cambriel will be complete. It is a pleasure like no other. My day is guaranteed to be meaningful because I have to write, even if it takes all of my self-discipline. However, I am ready to have my life back. I am thinking of scheduling a couple days in December for me. I miss River Legacy and taking photographs. I also desperately wish I could learn the erhu. A couple intense days of studying it, without subjecting others to the horrifying sounds it produces in practice, is just what I need. I was afraid I would not be able to make a soun

Right now I'm hearing Purcell's King Arthur: Prelude (Chacony) and it is moving me bodily from this place. I think it is Baroque. I must look into it later. Sometimes classical music is more than music.

When I'm done writing, I'm never totally sure how I did it. Each day I start out feeling like my words are an insurmountable task though each day, to my astonishment, I always pull through. I haven't once failed. It's better than last year. My story, I hope, is better, too. I feel that I am learning what it's like to truly be a writer-- I have lived to serve my work, and it has given me utmost satisfaction. All the same, I am looking forward to December, to playing my erhu, to taking pictures again. I would not want to maintain this frenetic pace for more than a month. I am over 20,000 words on Cambriel. I am tracking my progress and giving myself means to edit it away from home through my story workspace-- ophelia14.multiply.com, which is a new system I love. I feel like I'm coming to a new and highly progressive era in my work.

Rose lives! This seems to be a software error, on a particular weakness I already knew about. The speaker is not broken, because I can trick it into working, for about a second. It seems like because I dropped it with the headphones on, it believes perpetually that the headphones are in. I will try a soft reset and if all else fails, I am convinced a hard reset will do it (though that is really scary).

I can't believe I'm finally reading Maturin's Melmoth at the ripe age of 26. I remember reading about it when I did my thesis on gothic romance in high school, but I could not locate a copy. Thanks to Gutenberg and the wonders of technology I have all the books at my disposal I have sought. Anyway, those two stories were written in the same era-- the 1810's; they could not be more different. Polidori was immensely effusive in his writing style and his characters were possessed of inconquerable sensibility. Maturin, on the other hand, is as unadorned as a Victorian writer. It's remarkable to think he wrote this way at a time when no one else did. Polidori's Vampyre was a great disappointment to me. It seems Polidori must have gotten tired of writing it and ceased to take it seriously-- the last bit seems entirely a joke. I am only in the first of Melmoth, but the characters are entirely different, very hard and straightforward. I think I will like it. From what I

As usually happens, I can't get through three pages of literature without being taken by the need to discuss it for the remainder of my lunch. I have finally got "The Vampyre" by Polidori, which is only 167 pages on my Treo, and so can't possibly be more than 30 in fact. This story was written on that sojourn in Italy of the Shelleys and their friends, when they had a gothic story-writing competition. Mary Shelley won, without question, but also written was The Vampyre, the earliest fiction of its kind I know, by John Polidori. Cameos thus far have included the "magnificent" Byron and Shelley, which amuses me muchly since they were both of the party-- reminds me of writing stories with my friends and including one another in them. That is so much, and imagining that story-writing party in Italy with this added amusement is so pleasant. It is hard for me to imagine that they existed in the same world I do.

I can't describe how it makes me feel when I look at my old stories. Everything is different-- everything is the same. As I read them, I can remember how I felt when I wrote them-- almost every sitting. I can see their potential-- how I have grown since then. More than anything, I feel my insular world draw around me again. I feel like my characters have gone on living as I have gone on living. I have plans to put them online within the next year-- slowly. An abandoned garden. It seems appropriate, since they have gone on living unchecked while I abandoned them. I feel if I put them online, that will be a place for them. They will go on living there; they will be real. I believe in their reality more than one might think. When I wrote "go on" I thought of "My heart will go on" and I remembered I am bidding on a lot of three dresses for Rose. Less than two hours, no competition, but surely someone has a snipe set on this auction. The minimum bid is already a zil

I can't believe I forgot my phone today. I was running late, so I couldn't go back upstairs to get it. Anyway, last night and this morning I did much of what I have been doing on my lunch break on the computer. It was exhausting-- and I think my perverse plots must have affected my dreams, too. But I am very satisfied with what I have been doing lately. I am a little troubled by my server for Winter Light. For some reason, uploading by FTP is sometimes impossible; sometimes it is unavailable to send emails from my desktop-- which makes it almost worthless. I don't understand why I'm having this trouble with GoDaddy, too. Maybe this is a cursed domain name. Anyway, that has made it impossible to re-upload a lot of things since I made the switch-- like Lindsey's site. At lunch today I am doing something a little different. We ran out of lunch meat yesterday, so this is the perfect time to eat out. I will try the wireless at Sugar Baby's BBQ, which will probably be

I'm taking a moment of reverie at Starbucks in Ennis. I'm on the way to spend the night with Mom. I feel very emotional and optimistic, as though I'm making a new beginning. Though winter is the season of death, I feel somehow in autumn as though I am starting something. I am entering a time when I am more clear on who I am and what I must do. I feel more focused about my writing, especially my reading and research. I have books I want to read, ideas and concepts to explore, and in November, another novel to write. I feel so alive.

Friday Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I'm so glad my little Treo is home (more so that the person using it is home). Chibi maru and I are celebrating this morning. Want some tea?

I try to determine what it means to me, Victorian mourning. I am reading a collection of articles that take my breath away with the extravagance and grace once given to the dead. It is understandable that in a society where there was so much death, that people must invent customs to make it less fearsome. I long in my very soul for such a society to exist now. It's not the funerals I'm wanting. I don't know what it is.

Sometimes I love the city. It is strange. When I consider the stillness of the city, the abandoned places, sunlight and shadows in mazes of bleached pavement. Perhaps I love not what it is, but what it could be. That is the basis for my visionary city, Drommende. After thinking it over last night, I decided that I would not revise The Glass House for NaNoWriMo, but instead work on my developing visions and write a new story. Which would not really be new. It always bothers me to see the stories that only got to page 1 or 2. I feel that my characters remain in permanent limbo till the story is done.

For twelve years I have consoled myself with one story. One story that I have written over and over, believed it was my very best work, and that even if nothing ever exceeded it, it would be enough to have written it. It seems that story is an unconscious plaigarism of The King of the Castle. I found a few similarities throughout as I am re-reading the book. Today, I have found too many and feel nauseous. I feel like Helen Keller, who unintentionally plaigarized a story, and swore never again to write fiction, since she could not trust her mind. I remembered nothing of what happened in King of the Castle till I picked it up again. I did not realize the similarities, the identical circumstances. If not The King of the Castle, I can draw a source for almost every detail of my story. It is unoriginal. Why didn't I know till now? I feel like a fool. I know I am not left with nothing, but I feel like so much less of a writer when I think how heavily influenced I am by other works. The

The word "pegasus" is not in the Outlook spell check vocabulary. What is wrong with them?

Nathan in the Zen garden Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Today we are in the Japanese garden, and perhaps later we will go to the Egyptian exhibit. The weather is so cool today. It is alarming how quickly it changed, reminding me how quickly summer went. But now that it's Fall, we can do this more.

Another earnest wish is coming to me: I wish that I could read all the books I saw that I like. I like the really old, tattered obscure kind that I know nothing about. I saw one about living in the Arctic among Eskimos last night, in the clearance section. It amazed me to think that someone would compile years of life in a place and culture about which the rest of the world knows little, and there all six hundred pages lie forgotten, thirty years obsolete. How many lives there are. How many books.

Thai House, dinner. Here's my and Nathan's drinks. He got a Pink Summer, which tastes like bubble gum! The Con was awesome, and I feel newly motivated to pursue my creativity. I'm not letting anything get in my way.

Nature's prints Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I read about this in my Victorian girl's activity book. You press leaves and twigs in ink, then stamp them on pages. This is one of those things I always mean to start in the evening. I have wanted to do this in lieu of a flower press, because flower pressing can turn out badly, and always makes for bulky books. Flower printing is actually pretty easy, and will give me a reason to go to the woods.

I am longing for gothic beauty. I desire a more gothic look and wish to grow my hair long. I'm going to stop visiting Regis for a long time till everything is all grown out, then I'm going to have my layers evened out and dye my hair black again. I want it black again. I miss the shine it created. I also want to paint my nails white, but every night I am too tired or lazy. I hope to accomplish it this weekend. I am too sad that I don't presently have a web home for this much-beloved journal which will soon celebrate its third anniversary. But when I get my web host transferred, I will have a home, and I plan to improve the look of the page, which I know is very Spartan. But of course the whole point of this journal is its low maintenance: ideally everything would be controlled through my phone, but that is not entirely possible. Three years does not seem like a long enough time to encompass all the things I have done. I am so matured since I left Bethyl. It's the first

Winter light's address has changed. You can now find this journal at http://winter-light.net/ .

Yves Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I named my ivy this morning. What a tool I have become. Her name is Yves, in honor of the Yves Rocher site I visit every day, which is ambiguously off-task. Yves is a man's name, I know. I am melting a buttercream tart in my pot this morning. It is simply the best scent. Today is Thursday, special day-- chocolate raspberry coffee in the trellis room.

I could make Demeter scents for each of my stories. They each have very specific scents. Maybe not buy these, but I could at least pretend. I am at a loss for things to do, so I am going to play this game. I realized if I wore Dust and Honey together, I would have The Beekeeper. That's how I thought of this. The Shrine Dandelion Strawberries Dust (that is in all my stories) Sun-warmed marble Ivy The Siren Beach Driftwood Salt Mahogany The homey pie scents The Glass House Dust Greenhouse Tarnish Paint Glue Varnish Leather Mahogany (She restores art) Violet Rose Funeral Absinthe Fireplace Pipe smoke Mesquite Holy Water I'm sure I'm missing something, but there's a lot that happens in the story. After ten drafts, there ought to be. This novel will become the center of my existence in November, at the end of which I will send it to a publisher.

Tonight I'm going to be a little more serious. I have been lazing around the past two evenings, forgetting the goals I made, and that I have some things due at the end of this month. I am starting a more intense reading system for myself. I realized I will never read these books if I don't make goals. This month I will complete Hamlet and The Tempest. I have loved both for so long, but have never read them straight through. Next month, my goal is to complete The Siren. That shouldn't be hard considering the story is already wrapping up and I've decided on an ending, bittersweet, in the tradition of Peter S. Beagle. I have some very lofty goals next year. I am going to complete Finnegans Wake and understand it. I am doing this for myself, not to say I did. I have already seen a lot of beauty in the text and the Modernists sometimes transfix me in ways the Romantics never could. I dreamed of that book last night. I dreamed that after the first few pages it was absolutel

To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause; William Shakespeare, Hamlet

For once, I have very specific things in mind for my new site. I know just what I want and how I want to do it, but it is not coming together like I hoped, and I am disappointed about this. There are a few problems. This site must employ RSS feeds, podcasting and vodcasting, a blog with picture upload, and preferably an associated photo gallery. I want it to be completely portable, so that one can subscribe to any or all elements through an external program. Wordpress can do this. I have Wordpress on Winter-light.net, but I must set it up myself on mont.cc. There are two problems: they are external/presentation issues, but unless they feel right to me I positively cannot proceed. That is because if I make a change, all the work I will have done will have to be redone. The first problem is URL. I have those two domain names. For reasons long to explain it would be far easier to do this on winter-light.net, but The Garden of Virtues doesn't sound anything like Winter Light. I don'

I said... Como estas? This is interesting, not being able to talk to someone. I forgot to ask her name. I thought all last evening about how to ask. I can understand Spanish quite well but can't speak it well at all. I can understand everything she says as long as she keeps to simple pleasantries. Then again I have trouble uttering things in English most of the time too.

(7/18) To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause; William Shakespeare, Hamlet

I have not let it die in me, that desire to create. I have worked very hard to make time for it each day and I write, even if sometimes it isn't very good. I made a great breakthrough today with The Siren and I think I can finally finish it. I think I will put this on my domain name. Winter light has been too long without content, and there is no reason not to.

My walk through River Legacy in late summer

I know the classical station is not playing the Star Wars theme. Off. I love the new Sony UX. My only questions are, can I write a novel on it, and is it Vista ready? Anyway, I would not buy one until it had Vista, since I wouldn't want to buy that separately. ... Not that I am actually in the market for a new computer.

But I prefer the idea of thrusting off my mortal coil in disdain and charging forth into celestial aether, not shuffling it off like a weary creature shedding its skin. I misattributed and misremembered the quote, but I like to think my idea was more like Shelley's philosophy.

I will thrust off this mortal coil Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . This is possibly a misquote of Shelley. I don't remember where I heard it, though. "Vanity is an evil disease" read Hester Prynne's sampler. As you can see, my handwriting is not improving. Part of the problem is that, because I am left-handed, I do not actually believe it can.

I see why Henry likes the closet so much. I felt so much peace there last night looking through my old journals. It's so warm, too! It was, in fact, the only peace I really felt. Otherwise I was bothered by all the things I should do. So, I felt a little bit of peace in the closet, and I watched fifteen more minutes of Orphans in the Storm, which set my heart aflame. Louise is posed to look like a Waterhouse maiden. It is unmistakable: the loose, waifish dress, the long brown hair bound by a band across the forehead. When I saw her (Dorothy Gish) it gave me chills just as if one of those paintings had come to life. I am going to write an essay about it for what will soon become A Garden of Virtues, my site, and include comparison pictures. They are having a silent film festival at the Starbucks museum thing this Friday night-- but I will not mourn, I will try not to. It would not be fun to go to alone.

We all live many lives, and I am certainly not the first to say that. Lately this journal has fallen silent because I have been undergoing such an internal renovation. I have been keeping all kinds of journals, scrapbooks and photo logs lately, but I have been accomplishing the simultaneous goal of staying off the Internet, and so while all my records are electronic, they are not shared. I still intend to use my blogs and photo journals online, but it is never really convenient for me to get on the computer, so I don't update them nearly as often. My internal life seems to grow ever more complex. There was a time when I thought of a new thing I wanted to do every day, and so I started writing them down. I felt hopeless about ever actually getting around to them, but little by little I have been attempting them. I feel more and more each day like I am returning to the time where I created without questioning what I would do with my creations. The years have seemed to fall away and

Two things, one that listening to House of Flying Daggers is driving me mad. I cannot think of anything but the erhu when I hear it, and I become dumb to all other things. One thing that occurred to me this morning is that I learned to play the piano because I love music, but I want to play the erhu because I love the erhu. It seem like more than a vessel for music, but an end to itself. I am so filled with passion for it I want to place my ad for a teacher this very day, but I feel my life is still too hectic, and I need to prepare a place in my time for the lessons. The other thing is that I am declaring with finality that if I don't settle on a single story and finish I will never be published. I have had such a heart for Viktoria's Dance and Windflowers but I must remind myself that every day I mourn and lament because I am caged. If I send off my completed novels and at least try to be published I will feel a little better about my windowless prison. I can still conceive

As we approach Dallas Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . The sun is setting as we approach Dallas. We have been with it all day driving, and now our vacation is over. I am sad that this week has come to an end, I feel I have lived several in its expanse.

I dreamed last night that I had Maiden Fair Hair's gown. I guess I have been really dreaming of making it lately with all the proper hair accessories. The gown was made of exactly the same material, a lavender/blue two toned satin with small lace trim. The question is, where would I wear such a dress? It would only work for a scifi/fantasy convention.

Wares for sale Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . The first coffee shop-like thing I've seen since beginning this trip. I could not resist the chance to sit inside this tent and enjoy my coffee. They have public journals at their makeshift tables where you can record your thoughts for everyone to see, but I pretty much have that covered. I have not blogged much on this journey, though I have been documenting everything in my journal, which is more convenient, and taking a lot of photographs, to make a travelogue when we return. I only have one little bar right now, so it may be a very long time till you see this image

Route 66 Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Waylan's the Kuku Burgers in Miami, OK. Route 66.

I'm reading an 1893 manual on sewing. I must be crazy. I cannot use this information. The tools sold now are completely different. But I absorb all details about this time period like a sponge, as I do with in vitro test procedures, which is a totally unrelated thing, but this is what I have always done, loving unrelated things indiscriminately. And I am starting to believe that one day I will be a scientist again. Today I rode the elevator and did not feel nervous. I asked myself on both trips if I felt nervous, but my mind felt bored with being nervous about the elevator. I challenged myself so much as to look out through the glass window going up and down, and I still did not feel nervous. I don't expect to be believed, but this is a triumph. I actually visualized for a moment that it could be this way for me in a plane, actually up there, looking down, and not afraid, at all. I am not there right now at all, but I actually see how it could happen right now. That is good be

What is it about ten years ago? I keep returning to my sixteenth year, with small recollections, longing and disbelief. I am listening to Enigma lately, and my Eden album, and both really evoke ten years ago for me. In retrospect we understand what our society was about, and I find myself nostalgic for ten years ago. That was a time when we were becoming interested in holistic care, aromatherapy, simplicity. I remember going to Sam's Club a lot, though why a three person household would need to buy in bulk, I still don't understand. But Sam's Club had a lot of books and music. You know what else I miss? DOS, Windows 3.1 and CD-ROM educational tools. I spent hours learning about composers from my CD's. The Internet is so distracting, and its more cerebral material is unengaging, so I find myself not learning as much as I used to. I love my laptop so much, and I am starting to have the kind of relationship with it that I had with my desktop 486. Basically that entails kno

An email with pictures from the Australians... Dad's Tomato Garden Journal... It's almost too much to take this morning, to remember the beauty that is around me. I didn't go out yesterday, I was taken with an urge to sew, and I'm so glad I did. I regained my confidence. I made a few mistakes, but I feel inspired to do more. I really want to acquire some dupioni silk for my work. I love the texture of it.

I miss Ophelia, and the others, but lately I have been thinking specially of Ophelia. She has possibly the strongest personality of my dolls. She is what I make her in a sense, tragic and death-like, but what makes her so real is her tolerance to the persona I give her, and her additional true personality, which is considerably more free-spirited, even wild. Really an opposite to the other. It comes out in the photographs I take of her, which never have turned out perfectly. The last set particularly exemplified this. She was far easier swinging on the barbed wire fence than wilting tragically against the post.

Look! It's my pretty lady smiling and signing autographs. She smiled at me and was so kind. I was so nervous, a major dork, but so fun, and worth the four less hours of sleep, worth so much more, really. I have much better pictures on my Sony.

This is an image of Melora Creager, lead of Rasputina. Rasputina concert.

I'm in one piece, but I feel stressed. Why do people have to drive so fast? Someone was cutting me off on my last exit, on an overpass, and those are my least favorite.

I am hearing the Ghost trio for the first time apart from my Immortal Beloved soundtrack. The piano is being played with an insensitivity that is a crime to Romantic music but... I did not know the song was so long. It is still going, and I must have a complete version of this song. It goes on and is even more tragic than I dreamed. Note to self, find this. I am bearing up really well today, but things have been getting on my nerves too easily. I should have taken more quiet time this morning, I am not being as good a person as I should. I had toast with chocolate on it for lunch as well as rice shao mai. I could not have had a better lunch.

I can't put myself into my work just yet. There are too many things lingering around me. I am thinking of the 1968 Romeo and Juliet, and my poor heart is taken with sensibility for my sixteenth year. It is one decade since, and perhaps that is why sixteen has been so much with me the past few months. I am not longing for the past, but I want sunlight and long moments to dream as I did then. I will work, because I know there is no other agreeable path to noon and Lucrece, but I am dying a little with this longing for high passion and reverie. Shelley, you are not far from me nor are my other dreams. You are the merest thought, just a moment away.

I have been reading Viktoria's Dance for the past two weeks and am over half done. To think of it, it goes so slowly, and yet it is more writing work than I have done in months, this precious lunch hour I guard so jealously. I am languid with despair to work today away from our new home, and the only thing keeping me alive is the vast amount of things I must do which don't mercifully, require a lot of thinking. When I woke up this morning at six the sun had not yet risen. I still can't believe how the sky looked- feverish and bright. I never knew how it looked when the sun rose. What can I say? Oranji no tayou. I must take a morning walk down to the woods and see these mysteries more closely. I am, as I mentioned, in despair and yet in rapture and my anticipation of going home this afternoon is insurmountable.

Take me away.

My apologies to the author of Possession: the plot device is built around a letter that a graduate student finds pressed in a book belonging to a pertinent poet. I had declared that device implausible and weak: if the poet was so renowned, surely the pages of his books would have been studied already if nothing for his pencilled notes in them. However recently a letter was discovered in Texas A&M's Cushing Library written by Christina Rossetti to a friend: a poet around whom the woman poet in Possession must have been inspired for her Pre-Raphaelite connections and feminism, if not her secretive personal life. I can't believe something like this was found, and in just those circumstances: anyone could have found it, even me. I never had much doing in the Cushing Library because obtaining one of their books is a laborious process and I don't like reading under a watch, but my interest is definitely renewed. The book is still there. Maybe I can see her letter next time I

"If you think driving is a race you have to win, remember: the winners are those drivers who reach their destination safely."

Really. I wrote Victoria's Dance a year before my creative writing class made me self-conscious of my extensive follies. But Victoria's situation really calls to me right now, almost like someone else wrote it. She's an in-between, not quite privileged, not quite not. Half of people treat her like a servant and the other half, interesting, eccentric people, treat her as an intellectual equal. It feels like my life. At that point in my life I was just conjecturing on what the world beyond my tower room was like. I wrote this overlooking campus. I was not that far off on my guesses. The professors can say what they will. I think I was right on it.

My unicorn and lady cross stitch is epic. It seems like it's my whole life. I began it at my sixteenth birthday. I worked on it when I went to Grandma and Pop pop's house, which is not their home anymore, each summer. I remember sitting on the sofa and doing it. I remember working on it in my room at home in bed. I took it to college and stitched it in Lechner. I took it to my summer jobs each summer and worked on it there. Now I am finishing it. It's very large, and there are so many skipped lines in it as to be ridiculous. It's so large that you can't tell, but it makes it very difficult to stitch, because I have to make my best guess for each row. The chart is tattered and yellow, and the cloth is stained in places, but it's my cross stitch, my work for the last decade. I'm so excited to finish it. There was something magical about working on it last night. That same maidenly content fell over me. I did my work, then I slept soundly and woke refreshed. I

"Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work."

The trees, they grow so high Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

The glass player Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

" The Ash Grove ," played on the glass harmonica at Scarborough Faire.

I remember walking between classes, to and from my dorm, and with grass and trees all around me it was so easy to imagine Victoria running across the lawn and crying "Faustyna! Faustyna!" That was the name of the young noblewoman Victoria so adored. Then I would go back to my room and write it all down. I am not bitter! I'm grateful to have this. I would never have guessed that one day I could do all this on my phone. We are so blessed, and there are so many wonderful things in my life. When I look back on the past, the places I remember most vividly are the ones where I wrote. I captured a part of them forever in my stories. I will always have those places, just as now I capture places in my stories. Amusingly, they consist of two Starbucks and River Legacy Park. I am listening to traditional Chinese music at Summer Party but, thank goodness, no erhu. I can't listen right now and not think of how poor my skills are yet. Of course I have to give it time and attention,

The tank Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . The tank has been dammed and isn't as swamp-like as it used to be. There used to be a moldering paddle boat out there, too. I have much better ones on the big camera. New Hope, Texas.

Blue elephant Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . There was graffiti on the wall outside the rehearsal studio.

Abandoned warehouse outside the rehearsal studio Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . There is always something to do when you're in an empty parking lot waiting for someone, especially if there's an abandoned building next door.

Nathan after the concert Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Nathan performed his first gig with Mahteo, his band, at the Latino Cultural Center in Dallas.

Have I changed? Or am I merely playacting at this every day, ever pretending and fooling some people into thinking I am mature. Sometimes I wonder who I would be if my life had gone on unperturbed by the afflictions in college that swept away the last of childhood security. I wish I could say I have stopped thinking of that place but it is more with me than ever. Two nights ago I remembered in detail the contents of my closet. It disquieted me to remember things that have lain undisturbed in my head, really stupid things better forgotten. On the second shelf was Jonah's bird food, my extra pillows and stuffed animals, which I kept out of sight during the day for neatness. I have not been on the Internet for almost a week now, except this morning when I briefly checked email. I appreciate my reader's comments and will certainly read his journal when I have time for the computer again. I post from phone normally, and go for days at a time without the computer.

My spirits come back. I don't know why, nor know any longer what it is like to be dispirited. I have discovered classical radio, which played Chopin this morning, and it took me far away from here, to SHSU campus and my piano recitals. I felt like I was twelve again, listening for the first time. Practicing with Mrs. Marks. I never knew in my childhood that I would feel cold chills to remember those little discoveries from which I am now so far removed. What might I have done to keep it all close? I wasn't sure if I should bring my laptop for writing today, but I am so glad I did. Now more than ever I want to go to my stories.

Daisies in my hair at the Lacuna Coil concert: Lacuna was awesome.

June 20, Rasputina, again. Was I unhappy a minute ago? I can't remember.

I did not expect to bond with my instrument so quickly, but I already miss it and want to come home to it.

I decided to leave the group. I spend this time updating the web site, I can't keep up with the demand, and I get nothing from the group. I feel stressed about it: I really hate quitting like this, but groups never work out for me anyway. They are like businesses. They become weighted down with protocol and waste time. Another thing bothering me is another negative fiction review. I don't understand. Were they gay? How could he be gay and feel desire for Jenny? I wonder if there are people that truly have never heard of bisexuality. They don't like my story once they reach the last chapter. It makes me so angry. It makes me feel really passionate about my story. On the way to work, I thought of writing my story all over again with a much greater emphasis on Charles, whom I truly love. I want readers to see what I see, because I think if they do, they will feel what I feel. Isn't that what we as writers ultimately want? For other people to feel what we feel, if only fo

One thing I really like about reading obscure authors on Gutenberg is that I can form an opinion unbiased without any previous knowledge. The Victorian authors I read in particular: I know gender and sometimes age, but I base the work on its own merit and form ideas about its ideologies. I also declare to myself that it is a forgotten work of art, perhaps never truly discovered. I end up loving every Victorian novel I read, of course. I am wearing the most wonderful skirt today. It is really perfect, and I wish everyone could have a skirt as lovely as this one. It is made of the finest black knit, fits my waist perfectly and flares gracefully as I walk. I am trying to lose weight right now. This weekend I realized that I was steadily gaining, and immediately I began to cut back. It is very unpleasant emotionally, but I am not that bad physically, and I am losing about half a pound a day. For the first time in twenty-four hours I actually ate my food for lunch, instead of drinking it, a

If I say it three times, it will be so. I will not lose my essential self. I will not lose my essential self. I will not lose my essential self. And another one. These loins will bear no brats. These loins will bear no brats. These loins will bear no brats.

Good morning, Houston Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

The woods in spring Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

Morning in Houston Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

The sights I see Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . No words can capture quickly enough the causes for wonder before me. All winter this spot has lain as a dry plain. Now there is a train of little ducks across its surface. There are a black and a white egryt, and sparrows keep landing on the water reeds and bending them down till they're almost dunked.

My Oates book on writing has me thinking: what are my passions? Sexual identity crisis, loving passionately the unlovable and unacceptable, your identity surrendered to something much greater and darker than yourself. I am only just starting to realize the reasons I write, and her book won't help me improve my style, but realizing why I keep putting myself through this is the most important thing after all.

What I have read of Windflowers so far surprises me. The changes I need to make are surface-based only. I can find no flaws in the logistics. It is joyous to find over a hundred intact pages of mine that require no more than minimal correction. And to think I wrote them six years ago. It's most fortuitous.

Analog clock Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

Nathan drives the Navigator Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Nathan drives the Navigator home on my birthday weekend.

I am reading Robert Louis Stevenson's Essays in the Art of Writing. It is so boring, but I will do whatever I can to improve my work. The Oates book isn't much better. I should be grateful that any writer is willing to reveal the inner workings of his craft. I wouldn't want to write a book on it. I have been sending multimedia messages all over the place, and I'm afraid the extra charges on my phone bill will be ghastly.

Why is it? When I was poor and went through various phases of hand-me-downs, my mother's old clothes, and in college graduated to Wal-mart, it was one thing, but as this well-to-do young scientist I am still spending all my money on books and hobby supplies. I'm such a dork. I've got to get some cuter clothes, argh, I do feel so shabby when I see my threadbare lingerie and faded blacks. I love fashion in theory but I never have had time to keep up with it. I have a failure rate of 45-50% on every purchase, too, but I'm improving. I need new black pants and dark skirts. I think buying white skirts or hose is a mistake: it never looks good. I want the new white summer dress from Delia's and the puffy bloomer shorts from Alloy. I also want a light-colored lingerie-style swimsuit, but those can be tricky. My current suits are dark and dowdy, and I want something new for Las Vegas. I must repair my peach dress. It is the best piece of clothing I have. I want more vintage

I thought this flower looked just like a scoop of ice cream. It's making me hungry just thinking about it. Everywhere there is the scent of honeysuckle, but I still haven't seen it. I want to have so many things: a rose garden, and a tea room. My small court of flowers is sufficient, but I am capable of maintaing so much more. For now I am very happy with the porch and dining room, but I dream of the kind of rooms I write about in "Windflowers." I think I can improve my story a great deal. It is a really unusual one, but it is clearer than ever to me what to say. Dante is a fey scientist: he uses magic and science together to create living dolls, copies of other people to fill his lonely existence.

This evening I wrote a long entry on what I thought of "The Glass House"-- formerly, Love Among the Shadows, and Love's Shadow. I realized what I need to focus about the story, what I should omit, and discussed what needs to be said in the story. I have a better perspective about it. At Coffee Haus today I started revisions on it, and did work on Hildegarde: geocities.com/ladyhildegarde. All the links work now, and I am getting better at writing a nonlinear story. The more I write, the clearer it becomes what more I should do. I see it as a prequel to "The Glass House." Okay, I am a little tired of being a good girl and doing productive things for my future. Look at this angel: theorientdoll.us. I need to stop visiting the forum, because I do not have a need for another doll. I feel like acquiring them is a vice: it should have been enough for me to have one, and I already have three. But this one is an angel. He is really small, but my doll collection is alread

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.

Poor little clams Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . The poor little clams from Alice in Wonderland. P.S. I finished the raven. Yes!

Handwriting Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I wasn't kidding about the handwriting thing.

Mocha valencia Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Guess where I am again: I couldn't stay cooped up in there all night. I have decided to make a serious effort to improve my handwriting. I want to buy a book on it, but I don't know what I should buy. A primer will be lined to write large, and I never quite made the conversion to ruled notepaper. My handwriting is awful. I tried to write up the log book in cursive and it's so outstandingly different from my usual pared-down print I'm ashamed. I really can't write in cursive, and I came to the realization today that if I am to learn, I've got to get serious. I'm not going to grow out of it. I long gave up on that.

The quality is bad, but it is playing, at least! God-- I am so stressed-- forgive me for talking of such shallow things lately. I have to: I can't speak of the real things now. Anyway, it is so magical watching Scarlett O'Hara flounce around in the palm of my hand. She pulled Suellen's hair and they made faces at each other right in the palm of my hand: I felt like I was holding a couple of little fairies. Now that I have seen this I see I'm going to have to get a lot of Victorian movies for my Treo. I love to see fancy girls on my little screen. I've got to get the Snow White DVD. I think recording from the Tivo further reduces quality. This should have looked better than Phantom and looks much worse. There's a lot of artifacts. But I think this has a lot of potential. My silent films may do better since it won't have to work as hard with black and white. I've noticed they fill up DVD's less than color movies. I hope, at least, I can get them to w

. Drive home . Sleep well . Wake at 12, shower right away . Call Carol W. . Do light delicate load . Upload Phantom to Treo . Try out Lathe encoder . Finish A Raven . Put up Blanche . Sew green shirt . Brown jacket . Pink shirt . Encode The Scarlet Letter . Camille . Dark Shadows . Get MP3 headphones . Rip MP3's in smaller file size . Thanks for the Ether . Fallen . Immortal Beloved . Fly . Phantom of the Opera . Transcribe Hugh Worthington . Get 4 GB SD card

I am halfway there on my Treo expansion: I can record movies now with mMovie (http://www.motionapps.com/). I have not yet exported them to PC to really look at them but they look comparable to those from my first camera, or perhaps my second. Gah-- I can't believe I'm on my fourth camera, to think of it. I installed a DVD ripper which is probably not the best: FairUse, it takes 6 gigs per movie, and that's too much. I left it compressing my file: that also takes hours to do. There is another one I will seek: the name eludes me, but apparently it compresses as it rips, which might leave me with a 250 mb file on my hard drive instead of a 6 gb one to delete. I will see how Phantom of the Opera looks with FairUse first though. I am using TCPMP to play movies, free also, and it's perfect. I bought a SD card reader since I will need that to transfer the movie. Still not writing or anything, but I am starting to want to again. I also find I am terribly hungry, and I wonder if

www3.iath.virginia.edu/elab/

I am so glad I looked up the things about the iPod: just as I feared: you have to buy additional stuff to convert the movies: it only plays in Quicktime, so I will have to convert all of my Tivo recordings, which apparently takes hours, according to reviews. They offer ABC and Disney TV shows for purchase on their website. These are the only hassle-free shows to watch. What bull! On the other hand, I feel further inspired to further hack Rose. I can record sound, as I proved at that interesting poetry reading. Now I'm ready to take it to the next level and record and play back video. I guess it's that thing where the box said it could, so I'm determined to make it happen. I love my MP3 capabilities even though it's useless without headphones. There is freeware to record mini-movies, and software to play movies that is reportedly good. I'm going to give it a try. It will probably be as difficult as setting up movies for the iPod, but at least it will be free/cheap a

Modern art museum Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . We are eating in the cafe before our movie. I loved the Karl Struss photographs particularly-- there is a definite difference in composition from 1910's and 1970's: I like both. It is raining hard; this place looks wonderful in the rain.

I have been greatly desiring some time with my site tools. As usual, there is the problem: I know vaguely how to employ the scripts and vaguely what I want to put on a site, but when it comes down to it, I just end up screwing around with no direction. That's why I gave it up; but it obsesses me in the middle of the night when I'm here at work. All of a sudden I wish I was doing these things.

I am having such trouble completing A Raven. The last chapter is too short. I think tomorrow I will take it to Coffee Haus. I also have a desire to do a character inventory: that is, list every character I have ever made and describe him to the best of my ability. I have grown fonder of characters than anything else lately. I want to know how many I have written about. I have a feeling it is a large, large number. Making more feels a little like having too much cake or too many babies: maybe I should just enjoy what I have. But Jasper and Alice are growing more vivid in my mind. Okay, I wrote the above two nights ago and was interrupted in my office by an interesting phone call and my life hasn't been the same since, but I am coming back to normal, and I have to say, normal is starting to feel very sweet indeed. I am not on the same train of thought as before.

Every time that song is played, Snow White cries, and the little forest animals gather round to console her.

With flute. She's every mans dream She's Gods gift to Earth Women they love them too That's what you call a womans worth See I love all the strippers Because they show me love They know I never pay It's free whenever i hit the clubs But I can't even lie The girls in here so fly She slide up and down that pole Got me mesmorized Mike Jones gon never trip But god damn she thick I can't lie I must admit I'm in luv with a stripper [Chorus x2]

1. Finish editing my footage from River Legacy; try it with Windows Movie Maker; add narration and a sound clip, probably "Sister Sleep" by Rasputina. I started it during lunch and had fun. It looks good but I may go re-shoot with the camcorder. I was just doing it incidentally to see how it would work. It was a really windy day, and that looked great. 2. Make a stylesheet for my Multiply site. That site is the awesomest best-kept secret out there. I don't bother using my web space because this is so much better. But it is very ugly, and I'm going to have to use my own design. 3. I need to start my spring planting! I've got to get some seeds when I next go to Wal-Mart.

Johnny and Shelley. Sugar cubes with rosebuds on top. Chocolate butter. Grass stains on my jeans and dirt on my tripod. Not this, not this, not this.

It is so nice to come to Summer Party on a rainy night. Here I am, writing bravely, even though I am apprehensive and melancholy. I must keep my spirits up. Today I did scarcely anything, and I feel so depressed for it. On the one hand I feel like I have realized so many things, and I have a lot of good work to which I must devote myself. The thought makes me very happy. And on the other I never know what to do. To do anything, I guess I must put myself into it. I must not be worried about making a mess or leaving things half-finished. It must all happen a little at a time. I feel so frustrated that my days are so short, but really I pass through them and don't do anything at all. Well, actually over breakfast I cried over my Victorian Trading Co. Catalog. One of the statues they advertised was made by an artist who stayed by a lake. A swan lost her mate and waited in the place by the lake where he died for a very long time. The park rangers had to take her away when the lake iced

The fruit of my labors Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . Yesterday I worked literally all day long sewing two shirts. The one I had the most hope in came out really well. The other one I'm not so sure about, and I'm tempted to toss it, but I always regret it later when I throw away my handmade clothes.

I did not do much today except think and dream. I guess that is not bad, is it? I thought and dreamed of sewing and made some notes, cut some doll-size patterns, and nothing else, really. Tonight at work I am dreaming of Columbia: the image of America in a lady's form, a white flowing gown with robes of blue and red, a torch and a crown. I am thinking of making it for Ophelia. It is really hard to say why I am still so attracted to Lady Liberty's form. I am not very patriotic; I see something different in her image, the power of the female.

Princess misses her Daddy Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde .

Livejournal, I could post by email, which would make my Treo journal obsolete, and that would be kind of sad, especially since this is my oldest journal. Fiction Press, to support the site, and I'd get to add a picture to my profile Backpackit, maybe. I really like it. I wish I could make a website like this for myself for free, because it really is handy. This weekend I want to go through boxes in the storage closet, put some things in, take some things out. It ought to be really nice Saturday so I'll do it then. Sunday is supposed to rain, so I'll stay in and cross-stitch, or maybe sew. I've had such a desire to sew lately, and I'm determined to work out a way to have that machine out on the dining table.

I am cold, tired and hungry but bleaker still are my spirits after going through 338 images of Irag on the Yahoo news page. I guess it is not the thing to do at 3 a.m. But I felt too anxious to read or work on Cambriel. Now my curiosity has been sated, and I know what is happening, but not why? What is so important to these people and to our government? Why won't anyone say it clearly? "And when the wars were over, no one could remember what they were about," said Ashley Wilkes. Now that I won those things from Ebay I am ready to work on Cambriel. I am excited but nervous about buying these things. I have never had a story that existed so much in the physical. It is thrilling when I buy or make the things I need for it, but I worry about spending such money over it.

I am starting to feel restless and despondent. I don't know what I am thinking, taking on this enormous cross-stitch project. I know that the end result will be breathtaking, but it doesn't seem even humanly possible to complete. This weekend is the Irish festival. How many of these have we attended now? Our first one was my first year at Bethyl. That was 2003. So this will be our fourth. Time goes so quickly: it's startling. Today was the first bright day in days, and I would not have changed anything I did. I don't think I will take another photography outing until the trees have starting turning a little green. Everything basically looks as it did in January. I submitted my haikus to the Ito En contest. Wouldn't that be something if one ends up on a bottle? Moreover, if my picture of Ophelia ends up in Doll Reader? This may be a year of fame. At least I am putting many things out there for consideration.

Daffodils Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I began my daffodil project this weekend. If I can complete one design a day, it won't take too long to finish.

I am so excited! My order with Shoe Mall is shipping already. It's been two days since I placed it. Mail-order shopping has come along so far since I was growing up. I used to wait six to eight weeks for a package. Now things from as far away as Korea can take a week to come to me.

The mirror crack'd Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . The Lady is my desktop background.

Don't think that because I haven't written that I have been busy or anything like that. No, I have come up with a couple more hobbies, through trial and error. First I wanted to take up my embroidery again, but I didn't like the way it was turning out. I still don't feel certain if I want to continue, but for now I'm enamored of cross-stitching. I love the precision and lack of limitation in my designs. There are so many adorable cross stitch patterns. I can't even take them all in. The only disadvantage is using Aida cloth all the time, but at least it comes in different colors. I have a daffodil project planned for my (very short) weekend. I have also been following through with Internet purchases I thought on for a while. My most-anticipated is all the cute shoes I ordered from Shoemall.com. My mood was bleak a day or so ago, but I am getting better. This gray weather makes it very, very hard to feel excited about much of anything. There is a couple sitting a

I have been silent for a while because I have been thinking, and now I wish to talk again. Time is still a frightening thing from which I cannot break free. In looking over my housekeeping journal I am alarmed by how quickly time passes, and how little I note it. I have only to turn two pages back and I see what I wrote two months ago, and I cannot believe I have only been to the store a few times since then. How irregular my life seems! I began this journal for practical reasons to keep up with chores once I started working, but it has helped define my understanding of what home means to me. I feel I want to serve my home, and I feel a sense of loyalty in keeping it orderly, and great despair when I have failed to do so. I also feel despair when I have unnecessary things, buy something that doesn't fit in well and becomes junk, or fail to decorate attractively. This journal encompasses all of these things. I especially use it to agonize over purchases and where I will store them.