A Journey Into Love

They told us to pack a small bag. So I did. I packed my short fuzzy housecoat with matching fuzzy pj pants, a towel, one change of clothes, and a few toiletries. And a book. And a journal. And a pen. And my camera. And that's it. And the house was so lovely. And the yard/land was so quiet. No sirens, no skyscrapers. No smelly alleys. No traffic noise. No glaring city lights. And bathtubs. The house had bathtubs. Big, deep bathtubs. With plenty of hot water. The kind that makes your skin turn tomato red. And pink towels. (I love pink, in case you didn't know, LOL).

The food was to-die-for. Seriously. And the table setting, so elegant and formal and pretty. There was a gathering room (called The Great Room) with six comfy sofas, complete with pillows and soft blankets. To lounge on, nap on, to curl up and read a book on. The people at the house are amazing, wonderful people. Love fuels that house. It's palpable, from the moment you first cross the threshold into the house. 

I feel so rejuvenated. Like, I'm seeing the same, familiar things differently. I feel inspired. Really inspired. In every area of my life. Including the mundane ones. Like food. So, late this afternoon I went shopping for some baby spinach, dried cranberries, almond slivers and raspberry vinaigrette. And I made myself a bedtime snack of salad with these ingredients. I feel transformed. And I had no idea how much until I got home, and started to seep back into my regular life. I am that butterfly. And that one, too.

To learn more about this place and what they do, check out their website.

The Secret Life of a Serial Insomniac

Okay. So now I've got me some industrial strength air freshener that smells like cotton blossoms. Well, that's what the can says, anyway. Let's just agree that it smells good. And so now my pink Shox no longer stink like something rotten. Yeay for small victories, right? I've changed the scenery of my blog for a few reasons: (1) because I have this pathology that makes me want to change my blog; (2) because Love is Louder had 393 posts on it; (3) because getting my MacBook Pro seemed like a momentous enough occasion to celebrate by starting my blog afresh; (4) because I simply fell in love with this template and had to, had to, had to use it somehow. (Had to.)

What I'm Reading: Love and Other Four Letter Words, by Carolyn Mackler. Yet another Young Adult novel. Yeah, I'm currently on a YA Fiction binge. Maybe it has something to do that I'm writing a YA manuscript? Yep, I've sort of immersed myself into the YA culture .... straaaaaange .... as in, started watching Pretty Little Liars, Degrassi, The Secret Life of the American Teenager, The Secret Circle and The Vampire Diaries. Weird, huh, how I totally lost my historical fiction fixation for the YA genre? Yup, I'm quirky like that. I think it all started with watching the pilot episode of The Secret Circle. And, oh yeah, I've discovered that the DVR thing isn't like taping stuff with a VCR. Like, I can't record one show and then decide to record another show after the first show, without watching that first show. Grrrrrr. Yeah, that's me, learning things the hard way.

I have become an expert at avoiding working on my manuscripts in favour of shiny, pretty things on the internet. Maybe I am some kind of mutant magpie? Definitely I am some kind of procrastinator! Here are some pretty things I bumped into:

Music For Your Mood, A Magical Mystery Tour, Music Mixes, The Awesomest Book Cover EVER, My Favourite Susannah, Eye Candy, Sand Becoming Art, Something For Photographers, Some Nerdy Stuff About Feelings, Soundcloud.

Here's what I'm listening to tonight.

A Few Rhetorical Questions

1. Why do people insist on dressing their pets? Pets already have their own clothes; it's called fur. If you really need to be dressing up your pets then you should get therapy! Seriously.

2. Okay. So the dude's dead. Will someone please tell me how to spell his name? Kadafi? Qadaffi? Gaddafi? Gadhafi? Which one is it?

3. The late news featured the world's biggest cheeseburger. OMG, AYFKM?? Like, the patty made me think of a giant hunk of sh!t!!!!! What's up with that, anyways? Why waste all that food?

4. Why do people use Facebook to spam others with every single graphic they come across???

5. Why do people feel the need to twitter that they are paying their bills? Do I really need this level of detail?

6. I have started making short films/videos from both still and moving shots .... I love my MacBook Pro ..... my vimeo is here.

7. Do I really want Captain Morgan to pilot the plane I'm travelling in? What if Captain Crunch was his co-pilot?

NaNoWriMo, Working in My PJs, Joan Didion and Thoughts on Motherhood

OMG!!! I am some kind of mental .... I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo; I even have a story idea. Woah. You know what's even crazier? That I'm sort of excited about it. I'm also excited about the fact that I've designated tomorrow a stay-at-home day; that's code for I get to stay in my pyjamas all day and work on editing a sh!t-load of photographs and film clips. I might even squeeze some writing in there, somewhere. I read this article about Joan Didion late this afternoon. One of her quotes really resonates with me: I don’t think anybody feels like they’re a good parent. Ouch. Secretly, I fear that I wasn't a really great mother, that I don't have as much to do with my son's success as a human being as I would like to believe. I want one of these. I wonder if the landlord would bend the rules for me. I've been thinking of a Frappuccino all day today. Grrrrr. I'm tired and I have 37 pages to read.

This guy is hilarious. Check him out if you haven't already. (Don't bother if you hate profanity).

image credit ~ Sloth by Mandy Jansen

Contemplating Freedom

My absolute love of historical fiction leads me to appreciate things that I otherwise would never give a second thought. Freedoms, in particular. Desmond Tutu said once that only those individuals who've had their freedom removed can ever fully appreciate the gift of freedom. I agree. Books that have transported me back the the 15th and 16th century have introduced me to a time in which rulers designated thoughts of human equality as heretical. Just pause and think for a moment, of the implications; can you imagine a life in which no freedom of equality exists? Can you imagine a life in which you could see yourself executed or burned at the stake for practising an "un-sanctioned" religion? Can you imagine a world in which the mere reading of The Bible, for a common, lay person, would spell heresy and ultimately, death? Can you imagine an life so cloaked in a darkness which blots out any new ideas, new knowledge, or new ways of seeing things? Google Galileo, and read about his life and works; you will see the enormity of it all, of life lived under the damocles' sword of a united Church and State.

Rooting for the So-Called Villain

I've spent a great deal of time these past weeks reading historical fiction. Currently I find myself reading a series about the Borgias, narrated from the POV of a (fictional) poisoner. Long before the television series about the original crime family, and long before I'd come across any of the books about them, I knew of the treacherous reputation of the Borgias. Corruption, bribery, and the like ~ none of these befitting for the occupant of St. Peter's Throne. History paints these Borgias as villains, at best. Yet, in reading these fictionalized accounts of them, I cannot help but empathize with Borgia and his family.

I recently read Dracula: The Un-dead, a sequel to the original Bram Stoker novel. Once again, we see a monster portrayed as worthy of our empathy. This book depicts a monster capable of feeling, giving and receiving love. How can this be? Does it seem naive, then, to view the world as a series of contrasts of black and white? When does a being become it's heinous actions? Do we ever need to consider the context? Perhaps, instead of good and evil, we have shades of each. This complicates things, our understanding of things.

I find it interesting when authors paint their stories such that the bad guy seems worthy of readers' sympathies.

Day 161

I find myself caught in a maelstrom ~ a beautiful maelstrom ~ the maelstrom of my heart, a heart lined with raging and monstrous love for you. Desperation clamours inside me, foaming inside my every cell, lining my mouth with an acrid taste. Sitting at the mouth of cavernous deception, I have only my own cold self denial to wrap myself, and I savour the stinging as it whips itself across my cheek and into my eyes.

I try standing, I try taking flight, only to fall. Backwards, backwards I stumble, and then, flinging myself far from the barbed ramparts of your stormswept and leaden heart. Backward has become my only way forward. But I feel afraid, and cannot deaden the howling of my heart, which has cleaved itself to yours, and refuses to release itself. And so I turn around, delicately place the veil of courage around my heart, and then creep across this web of grief I have woven for myself.

Cataclysm

I did not see you. Until we collided. In a most breath-taking and explosive way. It tasted of piquant, wrapped in a droplet of nectar. Maniacally, we plunged into one another. Our union, so fierce and forceful, the ground around us shook. Your kisses resurrected me; what delicious anguish, my rebirth. I wanted to drink you, eternally. But, cruelly, you would not let me. I craved your fiery and frightening essence. With each breath, a new lesson. With each teardrop, a new cleansing. And now, like any cataclysm, this us has evaporated, leaving, forever altered, the topography of my heart.

Day 137

I cannot count it, the many hopeless nights when my shadow searched for yours. You thought to punish me, by removing yourself, leaving me filled with this, an insatiable hunger for absolution. I would burn away the world, to feel your lips passionately pressed against mine. And, so, I remain frozen, in footsteps untaken … our footsteps. And I ask myself, was that Dangerous Angel real? Then I feel a familiar ache, the ache of scars not quite healed. And I tell myself the purpose of scars: to remind us that the past was, indeed, real.

Day 135

From the moment I first laid eyes upon you, I felt my heart in danger … in danger of betraying itself. In danger of loving you, my beautiful and dangerous angel. In loving you so intensely and obsessively, I expressed some sentiments which I can never, ever take back. And my soul, it flew from my lips before I even realized you’d captured it.