awesome women

(just a random collection of awesomeness I've recently run across.)

Theodora Goss blogs about magical women:

"...They make the world more magical, show me the parts of it that are magical, in case I’ve forgotten... To the arts in some form, specifically to the mythic in arts, and to arts that change the world. I think it takes a great deal of courage to be one of the people who tries to change the world in some way — I’ve heard too many people say that they’re not trying to change the world, that they’re just trying to entertain (particularly in their writing). But that’s the point of that? If you’re not trying to change the world, what are you doing, and why? I mean, doesn’t the world need changing?" ~read more 

Shanna Germain talks about turning 41:

"You climb to the pinnacle of this mountain. There: You’ve learned something about yourself. How to love or be loved. How to let go. How to hold on. How to dress. A little confidence. How to hold your heart in your hand and give it to someone else. How to ask for help.
Down the other side. Broken. You forget what you’ve learned. You sit in the shade of the valley for a long time. Wet, cold, hungry and pissed off. You’re trying damnit. Why doesn’t the world make it easier? Fuck this.
Eventually your ass is wet and you get up again. Start up the other mountain. Those things you learned join you like torpedos, like jet packs, like best friends, like the perfect tools. You learn, you discover, you ask with the echo of your voice through the sky and sometimes you get answers." ~read more

Rosalind Robertson discusses 21 things to help keep you shit together when you're depressed:

No. 5 is "Pick up a paintbrush, a pencil, an activity you got joy from in the past and re-explore that.  Or, sign up for the thing you always wanted to try. There is a long history and link between depression and creativity. It’s a bright light of this condition, so utilize it to your best advantage."

No. 18 is "Simple exercise, if you can. It can be something as simple as taking the stairs up a flight, or walking around the block. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, it doesn’t have to involve climbing a mountain or running a marathon. Baby steps." ~read more 

Anna Haupt and Terese Alstin designed an invisible bike helmet.


The Invisible Bicycle Helmet | Fredrik Gertten from Focus Forward Films on Vimeo.


Finally, this is an old one. but I love it. Amanda Palmer, in my mind

losing my horcrux

"A Horcrux is a powerful object in which a Dark wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality." ~wiki

It has been over three weeks since I last saw my book. I have no idea where it is. I'm still holding out hope, (small small hope).... but reality is setting in.

I feel like I made a horcrux. And then lost it.

I strung out my heart, multiple times through that book.
Performed open heart surgery.
Braced for literal surgery.
Processed the stuff that came to me as I sat in silence.
Gave flight to flocks of birds and released branches from their roots.

I had letters from dear friends in there. A note from Lessie on Wonder Woman stationary, the recipe for my signature drInkPunk Cocktail from Andy, a card FULL of tentacle-y doodles from Bear is in there. And so many more. The number bib from every race I've finished during this time is taped in there, becoming part of the art/life-documentation. Mementos from travels and conventions, midnight brain vomits, poems and quotes and song lyrics. Pain (seems the book got the most use during hard times) but happiness too. The book was almost full (almost two years full) only a small handful of pages left.

It feels like I've lost those two years of my life. Like I put my soul into something too easy to disappear. Yeah Yeah, okay, that's getting a bit melodramatic.

To be honest, the past two years have been rough. A part of me sees this as a message from the universe to just let all the toxic ink go. Some dear friends just sent me a care package, to help ease the loss of the book: the most amazing assortment of "things" (old postcards, foreign money, tiny illustrations on paper, photos of friends, a ribbon). The kind of stuff to lend good mojo to my new book. Which, incidentally, was also a gift from those friends.

<3

So, yes. For your viewing pleasure, a few glimpses into the horcrux that got lost:

two posts I want to write when I have time...

One: Because I just finished reading The Fox Woman and also The Wind Up Girl, two radically different (and highly satisfactory) books that both, in their own ways, touched upon the theme of women created to please men... It's something I wanted to process a bit, but haven't had the time yet. (Really, you MUST read these books, both of them brilliant.)
[March update: finally got around to writing this one.]

Two: Because as part of training for this marathon I am revisiting many of the hills and mountains that I used a few years ago when preparing to hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim, and remembering what role they played in my own spiritual journey, and the almost universal role that mountains seem to play in spiritual journeys across cultures.

--------------

But first, before I write those posts, I REALLY must finish these panels for Traitors and Tyrants (coming soon in Monsters and Mormons) and work on illustrations for 20spec and inSitu, (etc). PLUS... I just registered to attend the Word Fantasy Convention and I want to create a body of new paintings to submit to the Juried Art show there. (wow, it's been forever since I did submitted stuff to a juried show, both excited and nervous.)

Anyhow... eventually I'll get around to writing those two posts. Just got to get some other stuff done first.

writing and drawing

21 of 365, originally uploaded by galendara.

an experiment...

At the beginning of this year I changed how I used this book. I stopped doing individual little drawings tucked into available space and began instead to turn these pages into work-in-progress art pieces.

And when that happened, I found I stopped writing on them.

But the fact remains that I very much depend upon these pages to be a place where I can write it all out too.

So I'm going to try writing the things I need to write on the pieces of the tracing paper I keep a stashed in the little pouch at the back of the book, [[i love you moleskin]] and then folding and gluing them into the pages here.

To become part of the larger piece of the whole page while remaining accessible for when my need to go back and obsess crops up.

We'll see.
Next month, I may totally change it up again.

Last pages

(posted at The Exponent)
I only have four pages left in my current journal.
(I really don't like the term 'journal' but neither 'sketchbook' nor 'scrapbook' really fit either. The book is almost as full of taped in mementos, sketches, and the words of other people as it is of my thoughts and experiences. I think I'll just start calling it my 'book'. Yeah.)

Four pages left is an awkward transitional time for me, coming to the end one book but not quite ready to let go of it, not ready to start the next one (all those blank pages, pristine and unfamiliar). I bond with these books to a very high degree but the bonding process usually takes a while; this current book took almost a year before I really felt comfortable with it. (I know that, because there's an entry documenting it). (Btw, Here's the post I wrote as I was transitioning from my previous book to this current one)

It's fascinating (and sometimes scary) to flip back through the pages and years and see the change. So many changes. All these tiny little instances equaling over two years of change. That may contribute to why the jump from one book to the next is so awkward for me~ it represents the passage of time in a more dramatic way than merely turning a page. I don't deal so well with change. Perhaps that's a part of why I do this little ritual of documentation; trying holding on to moments, to freeze little instances: a defense against the inevitable progress of time.... I'm not sure. But it IS for my sanity, that's for certain; a place to store the dangerous stuff, a way to bleed out the toxins.

The next book is all ready for me to begin, a lovely moleskin journal with blank pages (I've never had a moleskin before, curious to see what all the fuss is about). But I am still holding on to this current book, making those last four pages stretch. And also, I've been cheating: going back in time, finding gaps in the preceding pages where I can scribble in a quote or a drawing: A page from 'o7 may also contain content added in '08, '09 and '10! (all duly recorded w/ date and location, because that's my MO).
Eventually, however, these last pages will be done, the book full. Time to move on.
New pages.

wrong turns

It has happened several times now in the past week: While driving, my mind wanders (there's a lot for it to wander around in right now). Thinking through circumstances, wondering about actions made and decisions coming up...
When suddenly...
I realize I've taken a wrong turn. I'm on a street or highway I hadn't planned on being on (and am not sure how I got there.)

******
I used to be the sort of suspicious individual who would see all sorts of signs and messages from the universe in this sort of thing.

Now a days, I just think I need to start paying more attention while I'm driving. Leave off pondering for when I am not behind the wheel.

keeping a record.

[also posted at The Exponent]
I am an obsessive journal-keeper. Always have been. For most of my life, the record I kept was pretty banal: the minutia of daily life turned into faith promoting stories. There came a point several years ago when my journaling changed, I was working out serious life questions and no longer had what it took to write out nice safe faith promoting endings. It all became very raw. There were no answers (definitely none of the expected, prescribed answers one was supposed to find when 'searching'). At a certain point, I realized my journals were... dangerous? Meaning, I was no longer safe if anyone happened to pick one one and snoop. Well, I never would have been too thrilled to know someone had snooped in my journal, but now it was full of deep dark secret questions that I felt I really wasn't supposed to be asking. That I didn't want anyone to know I was asking. Dangerous.

The typical Sunday School line about journal keeping is that it is for posterity's sake, we are to keep records like Nephi kept records; faith, testimony, guidance for future generations blah blah blah...

I keep a journal as the last line of defense against insanity. I cringe at the thought of others reading these raw, misspelled, grammatically incorrect ravings of a mad woman, utterly un-prep-ed for public consumption.

Also I journal much more during my low times, therefore my book has very few of the puppies and unicorns and rainbows type entries. Mostly gloom and pain. Reminds me of a quote from The Hobbit:

".. but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much listened to; while things that are uncomfortable palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale and take a good deal of telling anyways."

I joke about having these dark dangerous ramblings all burned when I die. But truth be told, I love these books so much, I don't think I'd have the heart to. It's all part of the weird narcissism that urges me to record these things in the first place. Which reminds me of another quote, one by Simone DeBeauvoir that I have inscribed on the first page of my journal as a sort of warning/reality check to myself:

"Her Memories become fixed, her behavior stereotyped; she reiterates words, she repeats histrionics that have gradually lost all context, hence, the poverty of many diaries and autobiographies written by women; wholly occupied in burning incense to herself."

Anyhoo.... that's me. Do you keep a journal? What purpose does it serve in your life?

getting out

This is my submission for the Mind On Fire Group Creative Experiment. The card for today is The Devil. Yesterday, Sean posted a short fiction as his submission and it brought up some stuff for me; being uncomfortably close to some of my own realities. The following is an excerpt from a journal entry during a particularly dark time:

Her eyes opened and she was disoriented by the light. What time was it? Mid-morning. Oh yes, now she remembered crawling back into bed earlier to escape his need. A noise from the next room, the TV was on, some kids show. That was what had woken her. Also, the sounds of things being moved around. He was probably hungry, looking for something to eat. (In a corner of her mind she tries to think of what was in the cupboard that a 4 yr old could access.)

She pulls the blankets higher, close around her head to shut out the light, the sounds from the next room.
The dog tries to snuggle close to her, tries to stick it's wet nose in her face. Rage flares and she grabs the dog's muzzle, hard enough to make it whimper. Go Away.
The dog slinks to the other side of the enormous bed and curls up in a miserable ball.

There is a thud in the next room and in a panic of guilt she springs up out of the bed, running to check...
He was choking,
He had fallen,
He had eaten something toxic...
But it was none of that. Just some item accidentally shoved off the filthy cluttered table. However, now he saw her, she was there and he latched on with excitement. So many things he needed from her.
A softness brushed her calf; the dog slinking along next to her, keeping close (in an unobtrusive way).

They needed to get out, out into the bright desert sunlight. Out of the staring walls of the house (she hated those walls, wanted to punch holes in them, scribble black marks all over them).

Yes, out.
A trip to the store (always an errand that needed running). And lunch, at that fast food restaurant with the child's play area (to make up for leaving him to scavenge his own breakfast).

Grabbing keys and purse, and summoning faith in the power of "getting out" she loads him in the car.
Hoping it will be enough to draw back the internal tides of thick black waves, enough to ease the scratching of those thousand little claws...

also from the pages of my journals:

(this creative experiment has a second part: before the child was born, a lesson about bad women.)

waiting to get the okay to change your mind..

[This is merely a rant.
I have to say it here, and not at the post where the discussion is going on, because I am really feeling the need to be sharp. And that blog is not a place for much sharpness.]

So you say things are the way they are because God say's so. And that's that. You believe it with every fiber of your being and you have created all sorts of explanations to help you rationalize this belief (necessary, because the belief really does fly in the face of logic).

But, you also admit that it's possible God may speak again, and change the way things are. You do prepare yourself for this. You prepare to then believe, with every fiber of your being, the OPPOSITE of what you believe now. To discard all of your carefully constructed explanations (because they no longer apply at all).

So you sit. And wait. Wait for permission to change your mind. NOT asking questions! It is not your place to question, but to wait. To wait to be told. To be given permission to think something different.

[To be fair, that's not true, the persons I am ranting about are not sitting around. They are active, intelligent, participating individuals. The topic at hand is probably one they rarely think about at all. Easily compartmentalized in a safe location, requiring little effort on their part. While, for me, it is the topic that caused the initial tearing of my beliefs. Hence... A rant.]

shhhhhhh.... (quite II)

I sat down to write a post the other night and after working on it for almost 4 hours I deleted the whole thing in frustration.
I make lists in my journal of things I want to write about, but when I finally get to sit down for a minute or more, nothing comes; I blankly stare at the screen. Or, like the other night, write and write and write and then give up with the futility of it all.

Even now, I will be able to count the sentences in this post with one hand but I think I will publish it anyway. Why?
Well,
Why not? It's something to say anyways.

internet connection coincidences.

Recently I going through an older journal of mine, revisiting back to when I was working through my belief system trying to find a place to construct a divine female role... and I found this page, Aug 6 2006. It brought a smile to my face.

One of the quotes on it was copied from this interesting website I had stumbled upon called Mind On Fire. It would still be several months before I discovered the bloggernacle and began forming friendships, and almost two years before I would meet any of these friends in the flesh.
Anyhoo... just feeling nostalgic and grateful and so very blessed to have found the people I have. Thank you friends. You've saved my life.

(I think the majority of my journal is filled with quotes from other people. You should know that quite a few of you grace the pages of the Book of G.)

preside, marital rape, and I love kiskilili...

If you're interested in the subject, or even merely bored and looking for something to do, check out Kiskilili's brilliant post about the importance of fathers and the useless-ness of the word "preside". Not only is the post itself amazing, you can then go on and read over 200 comments worth of precision sparring back and forth on the subject (and a few others as well). However, you won't be able to add your own input, the thread had to be closed shortly after the bible quoting, GA quoting Howard confirmed everyone's worst fears, that presiding could even include marital rape ("Please explain how they would multiply if Eve refused to have sex.")

Personally, I'm just sad that fMhLisa beat me to the proposal. I want to marry you too, kiskilili! Do you do the polygamy thing? Can I be ya'lls third wife? Pleeeeease?
(fMhLisa can preside, Kiskilili can nurture, or however they want to work that out... I will merely humbly and obediently submit to their obvious authority! WooHoo!!)

"are you gay?"

I wasn't sure what to expect when I posted this at my family blog. That it would raise a few eyebrows, get tactfully ignored, and perhaps ruffle a few feathers and get a tart comment or two. The reason I posted it there, at the family blog (where I have avoided politics) is because I am the ONLY individual in the family circle who thinks homosexuals should have rights of any kind. (Can you see the reason I have avoided politics on the family blog?) But after reading Hera's well-written post about Mormon's who support the right of homosexuals to have marital rights, I though, 'Hey, it's time my family knew that there are active believing Mormons who think homosexuals should have the right to marry.' Because, really, I think they have no clue. They assume that all members would obviously support the fight against same sex marriage. Just like how they were stunned that there were actual 'good' members who weren't going to vote for Mitt Romney. Of course, my waivering belief puts me in the realm of 'not-good Mormon', one who would obviously be deceived by the lies of the devil. But I hoped that the exceptional Mormons for Marriage webpage would give a good showing of faithful members who think the church is wrong in this matter.
Anyways, I just had to post this because I just got an email from my mom. The only thing she wrote is "are you trying to tell us you are gay?" And I think she was serious.
I wrote back: "Yes. And DH is a woman in drag."
I wonder if she'll think that I am serious?

down time... or is Google making me Stoopid?

I've been getting concerned lately.
I used to read. A lot. When I was pregnant with my son and had a cake job as a live-in apartment manager I sometimes used to consume several books a day. Even just a few years ago I was still consuming ten or more books a month. Now, I feel like I am trickling in a book here or a book there, and struggling to 'get into' them the way I used to. When I read this fascinating article I realized the author had a point: "I’m not thinking the way I used to think. I can feel it most strongly when I’m reading. Immersing myself in a book or a lengthy article used to be easy. My mind would get caught up in the narrative or the turns of the argument, and I’d spend hours strolling through long stretches of prose. That’s rarely the case anymore. Now my concentration often starts to drift after two or three pages. I get fidgety, lose the thread, begin looking for something else to do. I feel as if I’m always dragging my wayward brain back to the text. The deep reading that used to come naturally has become a struggle... what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. My mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski".


That sounds so familiar. And it is not just reading. It seems a lot of things that used to be pivotal to my life are suffering, I used to write a lot; compulsive journaling, playing around with fictional characters and story lines, reviews and letters and thoughts and ponderings and observations... Not so much anymore. My journal is sadly neglected, I haven't touched any of my fiction in months, and when I look at the past couple months worth of blog entries they are mostly just brief humorous quips (appropriated from other sources) and pictures.


On top of reading and writing, I have not worked in my studio in.... almost a year? could that be right? Has it been that long? Previously an obsessive sketchbooker (as opposed to a scrapbooker) it so something that I just no longer do. And it's loss is painful. As sort of a replacement I have been taking pictures, but it's not the same; it doesn't satisfy the same need for expression that is still underlying and gnawing away.


Meanwhile my time on the internet has increased. A lot. Yet it feels like my internet 'productivity' has decreased as measured by meaningful contact with friends and exposure to ideas and information. I'm not sure how the math works out, I haven't sat down and analyzed my internet time, but perhaps I should. Flickr, Goodreads, email, chat, Blog Reader... and for all my attempts at getting all my information organized into one place I still just find myself... scattered and spinning my wheels.

And how embarrassing to write about this ON MY BLOG. (So, G, sign off already and go read a book!)

Maybe it is just an adjustment period (been lots of upheaval lately), maybe I just need to find a balance, get better at time management, maybe this has just been a necessary down time, and I'm ready to 'get up' again, maybe I have an addiction that I need to address. Or maybe Google has made me stoopid.

So... does anyone have any thoughts on the subject? ever gone though something similar? I am soliciting advice here, so feel free.

empty

I've lost the energy and ability to organize my thoughts into any sort of cohesive writing, whether as journal entries, blog posts, comments, etc. I think about the topics and issues that I have wanted to blog about and compare it to the easy little quips and pics that i have posted instead in the past month or so and I get sad and worried. I try to remember what an associate of mine (an artist) said; something along the lines of 'honor the down time'. And so I keep holding on to the hope that this is just 'down time' and it will pass, and that I will be better for it... But I also harbor the fear that this has just become plain laziness, lack of discipline, complacency, or worse.

have you ever felt this?

Utah 2008

from left to right: chandelle, G, mfranti, ellen, lessie.

back row, left to right: kiskilili, lynette, G, ellen, JohnR, lessie, bored in vernal, saraphine. seated in front: Jana, mfranti.

Finally! In the flesh, all these close friends I have, whom I had previously never seen face to face. It was AWESOME!!! Our family was already planning a trip to Utah to visit family, but when I found that the Sunstone Symposium was going on as well I couldn't believe my Luck. And so, after spending several days enjoying family and the great outdoors in St George and Provo, I continued on to Salt lake City where I hooked up with mfranti. And from there the fun never stopped. Honestly, mfranti's summary of the weekend is brilliant I don't know that I could add a single addition. But I can add a whole lot a photos, so here you go: bloggers in the flesh (for those of you only interested in the faces of the bloggers we hooked up with) and the whole shebang here (for those of you who also like pics of window shopping, shoe shopping, carrots pulled right from the ground, and a few extra candid shots of those aforementioned bloggers.)

unexpected mail...

in which I get a surprise (un-birthday) card from a dear friend whom i have never met in real life, but whom I have depended upon for some time... thanks Mel, YOU'RE THE BEST!

(sneaky internet stalker... she got my address from a careless pic I posted that had my info on it. LET THAT BE A LESSON TO YOU!!!)

our family blog

This is just a little aside, we have a family blog now. See, none of my family knows about this blog, I say things here that they don't know about and there would be conflict if they did... but I was feeling guilty whenever I posted a little family anecdote and/or pictures of us because I would think 'if only I could share that with my folks.' So I finally got around to setting up a blog (completely unassociated with this one's username) just for family stuff. and emailed it to all those loved ones in my life who love me and my family but don't know about my deep dark secrets. There will be less family anecdotes here on this blog... but if you are itching to know more about our family and our psycho dog you can go to the bell smith blog.

LDS blogging

Everyone is blogging now. Yep, even me (blame mfranti. she made me do it). And now members of the LDS church have been specifically encouraged to blog (and use other 'new media') to get pro-LDS voices out there into the national conversation. Every member a commentator. Obviously, a lot of members didn't need the specific invitation to do that... but now, because of this invitation there will probably be even more.
This little blog of mine where I work out my issues and concerns and disaffections with the church was probaly not what Elder Ballard had in mind. (Though perhaps it is what Silverrain had in mind when she encouraged self-censorship when discussing The Church.)
Additionally, I can't help but wonder if the repetitive smackdown Chandelle has felt that has caused her to bid farewell to fMh is not due to well-meaning members, in the spirit of Elder Ballard's words, taking on all those 'critics.' Missionary moments on the world wide web.

The inevitable evolution of technology... I'm not saying it should be another way, I am really not saying anything at all here, just making random connections with what other people have said.

the book of G

I am down to the last two pages in my journal. I want to make it last till December. Then it would cover a whole year. This particular journal I got as a gift from a friend several years ago but it took me forever to actually get up the courage to make a mark on it. It is one of those handcrafted works of art with fragile looking pages and elegant sliding wood clasps on the front. And I wear out journals like I wear out my favorite pair of jeans; way before I get to the last page I am needing to repair the binding and reinforce some of the pages.

In an entry on the first page of this ephemeral book I wrote “I pray the elegant beauty of these pages does not daunt my ability and stymie my need” (yes, sometimes I write all stuffy like that.) It didn’t. This book has gotten me through one of the most trying years of my life. These delicate pages (mulberry, perhaps?) have born an enormous weight and held strong.

Yes, I have had to reinforce the binding. There are smudges and food stains and tape now on these pages (along with my ugly chicken-scratch handwriting, poor spelling and bad grammar)… And I love this book all the better for it. Gives it character. Only two pages left. I have already purchased what will be my next journal, a sturdy plain book with sensible white pages (blank, no lines) like the kind I have previously used. It too will be a good one for me. But… these last two handcrafted pages that are remaining… what possible things can I write on them to bring to closure this book? That probably sounds silly but it’s how my weird little mind works. Two more pages, two more days till December… And how awkward is that, to start a new journal one month BEFORE New Years?!? But there is no way those two pages will last me out for a whole month. On a literary whim tomorrow they may not last until December…
And that would be okay too.