A Reprise

I can't believe it, there's going to be a NaNoWriMo chapter in my immediate area for all of our little small towns. I'm so excited, I have to go to an event now, finally. I have written three wrimo novels -- the only novels I ever complete now will probably be through this challenge. If I finally go to an event I may meet the Other Unicorns. They may even live around me. My god, who knows??? I am so excited about what I'm writing this year. It is everything I am and everything I need to say right now. It's about my reading, my ideas, my spirit, and the way I've become this person now. I can't wait for November. I am still trying to decide if I'm going to put it online or not. Right now I'm saying yes, but not right away so I can have some breathing room, say what I need to say all the way without worrying about putting it out there. But I will be posting my daily word counts here. The NaNoWriMo site crashes or is really slow in November (when peop...

I went to my garden and saw my plants and watered them. I never go near then without getting on hands and knees and inhaling the sweet and bitter scents of my various herbs. They liked me. I felt them welcome me. When I came near them and cared for them I realized I was no longer alone. The same when I passed my old porcelain doll and saw her pallid face glaring in the darkness, as mine does from old photos. I held her and realized that when I am with plants or a doll, I am not alone, yet when I am actually not alone, I am alone. I reflected how I am a solitary person, and to interfere with this is to give me acute pain not easily healed. If you would poison me, surround me with mediocre minds. Their banal words and transparent thoughts are bitterer than rue. Pointless conversation topics and meaningless words I feel to my very soul, as though it is my own breath expelled and stolen from good use forever. Truth and beauty are their monsters in the closet, the other side of the mi...

I am so interested in the Japanese style fairy kei. I have been following it for a while. Basically it involves wearing things from the 1980's en masse. Brightly-colored tights and leggings, those screen printed T shirts with unicorns on them from the carnivals, plastic jewelry and toy character accessories, such as My Little Pony or Care Bears. Okay, I'm testing my Twitter feed now. Did it work? I am going to color my hair though. I have been wearing it much bigger since I bought some Rave hair spray, but I need to take things further. I want to be Lady Lovelylocks. ?

Yesterday I picked up a couple things again I had stopped reading: The Cenci, The Tale of Terror and The House of the Spirits. Sunday I revised several pages of my book and have felt inspired since to remain in a literary state. I still don't have a title for it, but I am not going to rush that. I have realized with every book I've written that I will put things down that don't make sense to me, but fall into place later. There was something that Hildegarde (now Germaine) said in the very first draft that I have kept through all of these drafts, and only yesterday I realized what she meant. I felt like that sentence remained because I did respect her enough not to obliterate what she said because I didn't understand. I have found too a difference between imperfections I put in my work, and what the characters do, that doesn't make sense but needs further thought and clarification. Sunday night I started to believe in them again in the old way, and I have believed ...

Is erratic behavior true insanity, or is it a result of not understanding yourself? What is my position on obsession? Is it bad? Can it be good? In my fiction it has always been a subject of dark beauty, stemming with King Haggard's obsession with unicorns in Beagle's The Last Unicorn. However, there are many ill effects to obsession, dramatic and ugly, that I have never communicated in my writing. What is depression? Is it different from melancholy? I was interested in and acted out the subject through my first hero Anton, who rather than being brooding and dark, was actually depressed. But at that time I had never experienced true depression. Are anxiety and depression different sides of the same disorder? Do either of these conditions result from obsession, or does obsession result from these conditions? Emotions and issues to be presented in Red Rose. Understanding of the self. What makes each of us unique? Obedience to authority versus personal ethic. Curiosity about...

It's really interesting the way this is going. I guess revisions aren't so terrible as I was making them out to be. I like discovering things I did that were right, and I am learning more about the way I write. I can't really plot out an entire novel before I write it, though it is a necessity to plot out the major events. The bits and pieces, "filler," ends up becoming the most important part, and I make it up as I go along-- kind of like sewing a basic garment together, then embroidering and embellishing on it, which is a real joy (in both cases). I guess a storyteller is an embellisher. Some people get on a kick about how they are liars as authors, loving to tell lies. I'm not sure what that's about. I don't have any trouble telling the truth, and when I tell people about things that happened to me I'm pretty bare bones. No one would ever guess that I write novels. The embellishments to my character's basic story are hardly lies. They're...

Rain like tears clung to her window pane. Lind touched the glass and matched her fingers to the drops on the other side. She should want to be inside, where she was warm and dry and safe, but she wanted to be out. He eyes scanned the hills, but they were bare. In her dreams at night it was something different. On the hills were unicorns, of all kinds, prancing in the wind. Their beauty filled her heart with delight, and they welcomed her. She stroked their soft, silky manes. The most beautiful of them was their prince, who remained isolated on the highest hill. He watched Lind while she walked with the others. She never dared approach him. But he spoke to her in her heart. He knew her innermost thoughts and touched the subjects which gave her pain with utmost delicacy.

Everything I need to know I learned from The Last Unicorn... - I want to be a true magician, make real magic. - Now that I'm a woman, everything is strange, everything has changed. - I once knew myself, my purpose, but now I have forgotten who I am, and I am lonely, and afraid. - Even though I am one, and small, I can drive the red bull into the sea. Sorry this is not meaningful for anyone who isn't inside my head. I was listening to my Last Unicorn soundtrack on the way to work, and I still can't figure out exactly why it is the most important movie I have ever seen, and book I have ever read. I know for certain that something in the story calls to me, far beyond the characters and the fantasy setting, it speaks to me about who I really am. On the Internet this book was big for a while: Are you a unicorn? I wish I had the site, I would love to show it. Well, this site was built around the hypothesis that unicorns still exist in the world as humans. Some of us are...