If You Don't Keep Your Feet

It's been a while. So what's the point in coming back?

1.Going full circle.
2. New perspectives of the beginning and where you are now.
3. Never leave something incomplete.

Really, that's three ways of saying nearly the same thing.

Returning to the beginning always brings fresh perspectives which, when you're deep in an adventure, whether it's physical travel, a mental goal post or something else entirely, it's very easy to forget about where you are going. Your feet get swept off.

In other words; sometimes you are so close to a particular situation (your life) that you cannot see where the road is going, or where you actually want it to go, or where you had originally intended it to go.

Since I last wrote I've had a bit of that. Loosing my feet, getting some perspective, going back to the beginning (when I went home for a visit) and loosing my feet some more, getting more perspective and currently still existing in a state of slightly lost feet as the clock ticks on this particular experience.

I've been calling myself a writer and a photographer for a long time now. People give me envious looks. They cheer me on for being a creative individual. (As if it's some sort of select cult that only those with an intrinsic gene can enter. Ha. I'm creative because I like expressing myself differently and I've done it long enough I've had oodles of practice). 

Yesterday I just told someone I am an imaginist. As in, my job, my career, my life. All in one. They looked at me oddly but with envy again.

The ability to freely choose your identity, your time, your life. That's the ultimate for all people (dictated by society to keep us unsatisfied), and yet, very few ever step onto the road and let themselves get lost in the imagination, the wonder, the "who knows what will happen next week or next month."

Letting go of your feet is one of the most frightening things you can do. And this is coming from someone who has only done that halfway. To fully let go of your feet, letting go of friends, family, home and belongings for a time or longer would be more true to that way of life but, despite the ultimate (dictated by society to keep us unsatisfied) belief of freedom to choose your identity, time and life, you really don't, and don't want to, because certain things exist, such as cars, buses, trains, airplanes, theatres, restaurants, parks, pools, books, films, chocolate and computers, that most would not give up.

Thus one must play into ladder of employment, of government documented identity and a life rotated around mental misery because "freedom" and "happiness" are untangible and definitely individual ideals but also, ones which, if you've been born into society, you'll inevitably be influenced by the definitions which society formulates. Even if you scoff at the current ideal of "high-paying job, marriage, car, house, kids" thing which has been around since the early 20th century.

Oh please. All of that is desperately passé. Also, it's the 21st century. 'Bout time we made our own ideal. And it's there. A bit. Struggling along with most of us millenials who saw the lives of older generations and put our feet down. With a stomp.

Thing is, all that stomp is still very much just the moon rune riddle on a map. Not even the map itself, let alone a decent trail.

The first step is solving that riddle.

Start by testing your limits. How far can you give things up? What can you give up? How much control do you want over your freedom, identity and life?

Freedom being defined here as: The ability to create a living.
Identity being defined here as: The overall image you associate yourself with. (Yes we all wear different hats, but ultimately, everyone can boil their identity down to one word which encompasses all the hats. Try thinking of emotive language, of active language; a maker, an inventor, a saver, a helper, a planner etc).
Life being defined here as: The event you choose to make up each day, week, month and year.

Spend an hour this week making a list of all the things you could give up and all the things you could not. Give a reason for each.

Think too about what single word defines you. This is your job. This is what you are here to do and be. Not a chef, not a manager, not a lawyer, not a archivist, not a customer service agent or an artist. No, you are more than that.

You are also your feet. Take a look at where they have taken you this past year. It's autumn and nearing the best time of the year to curl up in a chair with a cup of tea. This time to reflect on where you have been and where you are going.

Don't let your doer feet get wild, don't let your inventor feet get distracted. Focus next on your freedom and life.
Can you create living with at least some of the events you fill your time with?
Do the other events support this living by expanding a part of your identity and freedom through knowledge, connections or other faucets?
Does frustration play into any of your answers? If so, why?
How will you cope with the frustration?
Where will you go from here?

Everything out there means something if you look at it hard enough but also, sometimes a leaf is just a leaf and the wind just blew it in a direction which made it hit your face.

When you step out your door today, don't be afraid to look away from your feet, but know that they will sweep you off toward directions you might never have planned for.

When you step into your door today, look down at your feet. Thank them and then get yourself a cup of tea, a writing implement and get on with drawing that map.

Moony

Invisibility Exposure

Can you see me?

 Being between two people in a discussion makes for a period of invisibility exposure.

You are a lighthouse beacon being stared at by a crisp's chomping lady on break and two desk bound employees in the position of question and answer for the current project in progress.

To make matters more icing than cake; being temporary makes a case of invisibility exposure between two people discussing overhead as if you were four years old and in the grocery store with your mother running into an old friend, or worse, a teenager trapped over a reunion dinner of family. Being then oggled at for how tall you've gotten but not folowing the debate over business and the nails on chalkboard crunch of more crisps. Again. And again. And again.

***

In my mind I had many impressions. I have many but most of the time, these tend not to pan out anywhere near as impressed on my mind.

Which leads to that self-doubt of "should I really do this?"

That's your self-confidence talking.

Or as I like to call it, your invisibility exposure.

It makes relunctant pop idols of us all as we sit on public transport, or tumble off, or walk in the wrong direction, twice. Passing the same old man knocking back a coffee. It makes obsessed fans of us all. Dreaming, desiring and wishing for the recognition of others.

See me. See me. See me.

Except, when they see you, they don't really. They mutter profanities when you accidently bump them because you are wearing your glasses and see less better than when wearing contacts. They snicker and mutter under their breaths, not realising your good hearing caught the words when you go the wrong direction thrice.

Except, when they don't actually see you. It is you just thinking they did and the gossip in the back of the bus is actually two teenagers obsessing over Justin Bieber, not snarking at how ridiculous you look. Or how they are totally not going to as worthless as you at the age of 25.

Except, when they do see you. You don't believe them. Because words don't hold weight from the mouth of the other, not matter how close the other may be. You're awesome. Fantastic. Brilliant. Wonderful. Talented. It's a sieve full of sand.

You can't see yourself either.

That's the human condition of invisibility exposure and there is no easy smear of super glue to fix it.

No, all you can do it keep trying. Keep asking. Keep walking. Into fog, flame, moonlight and rain. All the while, hold hands with someone, or many someone's. The journey is the point of life but no one ever said you had to make the journey alone.

What will you do this week to bring people into your quest?

Moony

This Is It

(Pre-service note: This was written right in the moment, you'll find out what moment if you keep reading, but for those of you who have expressed interest in things like my first day in London etc, well, that's coming, I'm just living in the moment and most of this is getting written during down time chilling on park benches for a period).

A last time down at the lake.

This is it folks. I am off. In transit. In motion.

As I sit here in the Kelowna airport. Air-conditioned. Relatively dead. Only myself and one other lady going through security. Yoga music playing. In attempt to calm panicked fliers O cannot help but grin. I would laugh. But my chest is tight and my eyes are leaky. I am overflowing in love from my parents who both took the time to come see me off, have lunch and, some touching last good luck gifts, one of which I am fiddling with in hopes it'll ooze liquid trust. The sort which gets stuck on your fingers like honey and tastes just as sweet to savour. The other rests on my neck and feels both like I have a bit of Gondorian courage crossed with Yggdrasil's sap as a tincture to calm me and ancestors to guide me.

And yet, I sit here, the yoga music tinkling away with waterfall accompaniment, feeling supremely tense and short of breath. I tell myself, what is the worst that could happen? I pay extra fees for baggage that they don't let through, or I get held up briefly as they rummage my carry-on wardrobe to uncover a ps3 and a conversation about how the guard once got embroiled in the Simpsons game with his sons and it was an intense few hours of dueling. I cannot say I have ever player that one, but I can agree gaming can be intense. Particularly ones involving zombies. First person shooter (fps) with zombies is even worse. I don't scream during scary movies. I do  shriek during zombie games. Terrifying. You never know when they will sneak up on you. However, you do know it is a game and you have the option of pausing and turning the lights on.

I won't say life is a game. But right now I can say life is full if fabricated zombies. All those fears we invent as we embark on new and unknown things. Those are our Zombie games. Like games we do have the option of pausing and turning in a light, so we are less afraid. No, it doesn't always work. It doesn't always help my edgey fright when dodging zombies and hiding in corners, surveying the safety of my surroundings.

But. But it does ease the fear a little. So, I sit here now, with my world tree necklace and my rock saying "Trust" and I breath and trying not to snort sarcastically at the airport's attempt to placate us with yoga tunes.

I have my lights on and my game is running. I am off to Vancouver and then London soon after.

This is it folks. Let the zombie hunt begin.

Welcome to life.
Moony.

The Art of Relativity

You might imagine life to be like this. But really, that actually gets quite boring.

Life is like a rocket ship. It take time to countdown, but when it does, it shoots off. Usually with a ridiculous amount of fanfare.

Well, at least that is how I see the past few weeks in which I have neglected on writing anything. Mostly as I felt it wasn't particularly significant or didn't make the time for it.

It's certainly been an interesting contrast from a few months ago or even back in January when I was soley focused on two things, my writing and piano. I even had a month where I house-sat out in the snowy countryside.  In short. Life meandered. Mostly I was content. But that was that. Content. Not exactly the most exciting adjective to add to life.

Come just a few weeks back however, life took off. I finally got a part-time job getting me up at 5am every day, being over-run with paperwork, calls at 5-6am coming in from London (interviews too), a trip to Vancouver for the same reason. All of this has been to fund a somewhat spontaneous decision I made a few months earlier that I wanted to move to the UK to teach English Lit, Music and whatever else my skill set would allow me (and the school I end up with). The biggest challenge however has honestly been just that I have little money saved up after five years of university and spent a large portion of this year unemployed or employed by relations as a nanny. Then again, if you want something, why settle?

I have always wanted to to go the UK, (there are endless reasons I won't get into at the moment) and after visiting Greece and Turkey I realised the best way to really get to know a country is to live in it for a while. Back in January I was all for moving to Japan to teach ESL but that's third on my list of places to visit but within that meandering slow life earlier this year I realised as much as I am permanently tired, often stressed and generally wishing for a full day of "nothing," that "nothing" isn't living. At least not in the way I want to, which it to experience and do as much as I possibly can after so many years of just doing as I was told and quietly staying back in fear.

Apologies for the long-winded blab about my life but as we near August and the inevitable end of the slow hot summer time full of holidays or whatever else you might be doing. (Frankly, the heat alone has to be enough to slow people down). The thing is, remembering at this time that when September starts, or if you are currently overwhelmed with far too many things, that keeping yourself busy, being creative, giving yourself challenges, even if it is seeing how fast you can do cashout in the morning, that is worth more than too many lazy days when you have utterly no plans. That way even the most mundane of tasks will never get stagnant. (And believe me, even cashout, which is terrifly full of thousands of dollars of math, a subject that was never my strong suit, is starting to get routine even after three weeks).

Remember though, life is balance. Those rocketships in your life won't take off if the fuel is uneven or the rockets don't match. Whether you are in a slow spot where things seem mundane and you are working the job of "lazy" or you are down to the road, sprinting, juggling flames and meditating at the same time, all those moments are relative.

Don't beat yourself up for being lazy for a few months. Don't let other people's opinions do so either. That is what summer is for. Or winter. Or whatever time you need. Just don't let things get boring. Don't let your creativity and challenges die. In busy or lazy.

Remember the art of relativity means you are allowed to snack on laziness as much as you are encouraged to sponantenously dive for great challenges.


Balancing on little things.
Moony

Using Creativity to Live

Carousel's aren't stereotypically magical places for nothing. Especially old ones like this in San Franscisco.

You've all probably heard about the power of art to help people work through problems (of all levels and kinds). I've got a slight twist on it however as I see art (creativity in general) as a way to view the world around you. Creativity is a way of life, not just a method of healing.

In other words, if you strive to be creative with at least one thing per day, you will find yourself thinking "I'm living" rather than "I'm just existing." Rather than going through the motions, day after day, with creativity, just a bit, will allow you to slowly start taking control over your life.

Use creativity to live.

But wait! I'm not creative! You might say.

Sorry, but actually, you are utterly wrong. I believe everyone is creative. After all, creativity is not a personality, nor is it a genetic trait. It is a skill.

The definition of a skill is something which can be learned, and eventually mastered (though frankly I also believe, like life, you will never be a master of creativity, after all, what is living and learning, if you reach an end point? Death? Probably).

Think of it this way also: creativity is about reconnecting the dots. 

Either way, you are creative. It just takes the determination to practice and an inordinate amount of belief in yourself. Especially as it is easier than ever to compare yourself to even that indy author who just published an ebook, let alone anyone who lands on a bestseller list and is a household name like John Green's "The Fault in Our Stars."

The thing people often forget (and I'm just as much a culprit) is no one got anywhere by doing a lot of comparing. People create things because they love to. Because it is a way to express their innermost thoughts, turmoiled or peaceful. It is a way to reflect on the reality of this Earth and the reality of their lives and perspectives or try out the perspective of someone else.

It's life. You do thing because you love to, not because it will get you fame.

If your creativity extends to lyrical facebook statuses, great. You might have made someone's day. I did. Numerous acquaintances expressed their love of the statement and one even wrote it down to share with others and I'd love to share it with you all too.

"People are moons. Don't look at them as new or full, light or dark, they are who they are, which means a lot of deep asteroid scars that no one can ever fully see, all at once. Not even them. They are a deep, moonlit wormhole. That makes them real. Not their reflection on society's waters." ARR

 It's not going to be a perfect path. Your idea of perfection will likely never exist on this reality, but what can exist is a good life lived. One where you create something. Daily.

Start with making someone smile.

Moony.

P.S. If you want further words about the values of creating things, check out this brilliant address by Neil Gaiman, a trule admirable storyteller, to American grad class a couple years ago.

Make good art.

Smile for Life

Note: As a general rule I do try not to blab much about my personal life and when I do, I try to spin it toward being more useful to you readers than the silly thing I once had on Livejournal during the years of angsty teenager-dom. Today though, I ask your understanding as I get a little more personal as I express what some would call an ephiphany experience. Regardless I hope you all can take something to apply to your own life perspectives and observations.

If I ascribed a landscape to my friend's perspective it would be this.

A few weeks back I lost an old friend who had lived with cystic fibrosis her whole brave and beautiful life in this world. Yesterday was the proper funeral and that "ephiphany" moment. I realised I was standing amid an end of an era and I wasn't sad. Instead I was full of deep gratitude that I had been fortunate enough to have known her.

Though I still owe her endless batches of force-fed pink icing cupcakes to create happiness (and fatten me up) during a period in which life hit one of those pits and the universe conspired to have her move around the corner from me during that time. It'll have to wait until I catch up with her one day.

For now I just have to find some of my own people to cheer up via force feeding of pink iced cupcakes.

In all seriousness, I owe her more than cupcakes though. Aside from my best friend, who I was able to reconnect with a few years back, I never had anyone who actually listened to me, let alone understood even 10% of what passed through my mouth. My friend was an amazing supporter of my mental particularities. Though perhaps that was because she had the emotional range and empathy to cross two Earth's and still have enough love for a China-sized country of individuals.

Whatever the case, I often find myself in a crowd, people milling around like yappy sheep, asking those impersonal yet apparently obligatory questions and then finding the conversation stunted worse than the ridiculousness of weather conversations in 19th century novels that the writers often poked fun at. So why must we still do it? I've never understood why people do it. Is it some ingrained primodial action that proves to the other party you are not a threat? Perhaps. Yet people still do it.

Occasionally though, people branch beyond it and start chatting about their lives. Very few words were directed around about my friend, though my observations were not scientifically founded in perfection as I left the family members who were largely seated at various tables, in peace from my lurking. I do understand certain boundaries. I also need to admit here that though I have lost extended family, I've only ever been able to attend a celebration of life which was centered around remembering the deceased rather than an typical funeral which is what I attended yesterday.

Pre-service, during the service and he reception I had a growing sense of disassociation from the people present, my sole connection was a thread with my friend as her favourite song was performed and I watched her life smile by in the form of photos. It was the end of an era and I felt more whole and certain of my place in this world and who I was since way back when I was ten, and entirely sure I was going to be one half of an epic crime fighting duo. When you're ten and your best friend hasn't moved away, yet, the world is more your oyster for eating than for taking and hiding away in a bank account. Like adults do. Instead, I subscribe to the Peter Pan sydrome.

Was the experience ephiphany?

No. Definitely not. As far as my knowledge and experience goes, ephiphanies are what characters in books get because the writer needs to move the story along quick enough to prevent readers ditching it out of boredom. After all, the ephiphanies of real life apply more of a sneak ninja style or, transformation via slowly administered drugs.

In other words, ephiphanies are gradual realisations over time, except most people tend to put a lot of stock in the aftermath when you realise you had a realisation of some sort.

In my words, I had a fraether. Over at my Life Hacker's Dictionary you'll find the particulars of the defintion if you're curious.

But for those of you less curious, a fraether is simply a realisation that you can finally to look over the edge of a cliff without desiring to leap over the edge to probable death, or getting the look from people who think you might have done if they hadn't been shoving pink iced cupcakes in your face instead.

This past era wasn't true to me or my spirit but thanks to my friend, and the building blocks of enforced cheer plus numerous sprinkles from other meaningful persons, I have identified my confidence. I can thank the past era for getting me to this point where I feel I can head out and though I may not end up being one half of an epic crime-fighting duo, I will certainly end up being proud of my efforts to share my voice of creativity in order to help others find their own. I owe it to my friend to extend all thehands I can.

When was the last time you listened to someone and extended a hand (or regular cupcake visits)? 

Humming her favourite tune, Hallelujah.
Moony.

The Best Way to Choose Your Own Adventure

Welcome to the distant land called Adventure. Occasionally it's just in your head. That's an adventure too.

 
In the short-ish life of this blog this has probably been the longest I've gone without rambling away with something on here that might provide curious insight at the very least to you all.

It's probably going to happen a lot more (at least for the recent future). I've got a potential job floating about. It's currently very nebulous but it's certainly been an adventure and will continue to be for the foreseeable future as it involves living in another country for at least a year, for starters. It's taught me quite a bit about going for things, and a bit like those yellowy old "choose your own adventure" books that were in my elementary school. So let me tell you my half of the story so some context can be applied to my reasonings behind how best to take hold of your own adventure and future.


The Call to Adventure:
Unexpected phone calls at odd hours. Unexpected meetings. Unexpected tragedies. Unexpected celebrations. Unexpected deers jumping into your path.

Notice those. Immediately. If you breezed past them. Back up now, either literally, if it was a person, or phone call, or if it was a one-time event, just go to your memory.

The Door. Crossing the Threshhold:

That unexpected thing just opened a door. Walk through it. Dive through it. Roll through it. I don't care how, just get your bottom off your couch and go through it. That is my advice as your personal wise Wizard with a pointy stick (staff). 

Tests, Ordeals, Possibly a Death of Some Sort:

Cheers for going through the door. Things aren't all robot rainbow unicorns though. You've got a monkey barrel of tests, possibly lots of paperwork, using acting skills that you don't actually have because employers sometimes need to see an image before they see you. You might screw something up. Fantastically. A great big bomb of a boom because you pulled out the red wire instead of the blue one.

Okay. Breath. Sit back. Make lots and lots of lists. You might go through a metaphorical death, maybe there will be a literal death somewhere (and I give you a pre-emptive hug if that is the case). It'll pass. You might not have talking eagles at your beck and call to help out when your stuck between a warg and a tree, but you'll figure it out. Make lists. What's important to you? What steps need to be done to get there?

Reward! You Got the Sword!:

Yay! You passed all your trials. You got the job. You got the house. The boyfriend. The barrel of monkeys. The raise, the book deal, the green-lit script. Breath. Relax. Trust. Enjoy. Unlike Joseph Campbell's tidy hero cycle, this current reality has a set of Physics rules that dictate you'll have a new set of trials and adventures and all that. Sort of like mini cycles within a cycle. But hey, the world's round, so it does make logical sense that our lives are going to be like that too.

Return:

Your adventure is going to be over at some point and you'll probably go visit whoever lived with or around you before you got the Call to Adventure. This is a chance to go thank them for putting up with you during that period when you were miserable and didn't realize all you needed was to stop hiding and just grab on to an adventure. You'll also probably realize you're really different and probably not happy back in that old place anymore.

That's okay. You've grown. Your a hero. You are living an adventure. It's called life.

Aren't you glad you listened to that wise Wizard with the pokey stick (staff)?

Navigating an adventure to other lands on Earth.
Moony.

Walking the Edges (How to Make an Impact?)

"When you come to the edge of all that you know, you must believe one of two things: either there will be ground to stand on, or you will be given wings to fly."
— O.R. Melling (The Summer King (The Chronicles of Faerie, #2))

I believe in faeries. Do you?

I also believe we forge our own fates. Do you?

There are two parts to today's post: Part one is a bit of forward looking as I stumbled across an interesting mixed list of people recently released by TIMES. Found here. Part two is a lot of past nostaliga, in the form of a childhood which contained a lot of faeries and very little to do with locating a source of monetary income that had more purpose than showing me a lot of numbers in my bank account.


While I was browsing GoodReads for a quote to use today I got a google alert about an article from the TIMES about the 100 Most Influential People of 2014, so I checked it out.

It's a fascinated browse through pop-singers and politicians. Actors and activists.

I was shocked at some, in total agreement with those I knew, inspired by many and interested to discover others.

I haven't a clue what the TIMES uses as a bar by which to compare, contrast and weed through to these 100 individuals but whatever the case may be, it made me think about how I want to form my future. Currently it's all a bit of a cloud of stuff; tangled as I am with far too many creative endeavours (a friends recently convinced me to compile my personal encyclopedia into a wiki which is no small feat) in addition to being required to function as a useful member of my family, since I am back living with them.

Since there were many individuals to admire on the list I'll just focus on the two similar and yet, opposing figures who stood out to me in the same professional area which I wish to enter. Authors.

John Green. Have you heard of him?

His most recent novel: The Fault in Our Stars, is coming out as a movie this summer, though he has authored numerous books before that one. He is also one half of the famous brother duo on Youtube known as the Vlogbrothers who started up a group called the Nerdfighers. The Nerdfighers maxim is "Don't Forget to Be Awesome" and ultimately is all about being empowered and empowering others.

I have yet to read John Green's novels but the vlogs he and his brother do are hugely inspiring and I will leave it at that, otherwise I'll never get around to the rest of my post points. You can check out their channel here if your interested: Vlogbrothers Channel.

The other author who I stumbled across as I randomly clicked some of the 100 individuals who I could not recognize via their thumbnail portrait was Donna Tartt. Do you know her? I didn't. Still don't really, seeing as I just discovered her a couple hours ago.

Anyway, what stood out for me, between her and John Green was that she has been much quieter on the front of notoriety and being recognizable via a single image as many of these 100 figures were. (Not all, but many). Also, she has only published three novels, having a decade sitting between each, and during this period, the individual who wrote the tribute to her on TIMES, suggested Donna used that time to become her characters she would get so deeply immersed in them which is, in my opinion, the act of a true artist, speaking not just from a surface level, but an experiential heart level. That is not to say anything other authors, like John Green, or my favourite and highly prolific author, Terry Pratchett, are any less artistic, it's just that her's is perhaps a more sedate art that resembles a stroll along one of the foggy beaches of North Vancouver Island rather than the vibrant flash of culture and art found in the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul.

All that said, it made me think about who I am and the sort of impact I want to leave. Will I do what I am most passionate about and disregard all my other interests for the sake of succeeding in one area or will I dabble in multiple things and remain rather mundane and just another blip on the radar of human births and deaths. Like John Green, Donna Tartt, my university friends pursuing creative writing degrees and getting their scripts made into plays, or any other person I happen to know and admire, so I have what it takes to be anything more than a rambler in a corner?

So I sat with my faeries (and this is where Part two comes into play).

If you give a faerie a book. She'll ask you to read it outloud. If you read the book outloud, she'll ask you for...

I sat with my faeries. Outside. In a grassy corner supported by a rock wall on one side and cedar bushes on the other. I closed my eyes, soaking in the juice of sunlight and thought back to the days when the grass was a great jungle, when under the birch tree was a great forest and the only thing I, the faeries or my fellow adventurers were concerned with was exploring new lands, running a lot and imagining what those places looked like.

As I said at the beginning; sadly, those sorts of imaginings do little for the reality we live in which requires much more than a strong imagination to create the right order of pixellated numbers on your computer screen which determine whether you are broke, in poverty, comfortable or a rolling billionaire. How much should I worry about that though over doing one of my creative pursuits, like writing?

In reality, if I want to go much of anywhere, like with anything, you have to put in the same amount of effort and time you hope to get out in rewards. Or, at least, that is what we are always told. I'm not convinced that is true, at least not anymore. Not when grabbing information and expressing ourselves can occur in a couple clicks. On the other hand, that also inspires a lot of laziness and desire for things to happen *now* which tend to also only get augmented when you view lists like TIMES 100 Most Influential People of 2014 and you come across individuals who are not just ten, twenty, thirty years old than you, but a mere five.

And so I return to my faeries. Being faeries, there would often be a lot of imagining around flying; soaring through the blue sky, bouncing of bulbous clouds and zipping over the deep greens of the lawns below. In those times there was never any thought, any fear really, of falling, of crashing to the ground and ending in a horrific splatter of guts and forgotten bones. Unfortunately it's much easier to exist in the land of the imaginary than it is to face reality; even when it is literally screaming at you in the face, in the form of the general noise that occupies large families.

I was told 2014 would be an amazing year for me. So far it's turning into a lot of backpedaling and doing things which are keeping me stuck in someone else's chosen lifestyle rather than my own. Really, me be stuck on this edge is my own choice. I've said before, there is always a choice. I could up and leave and live homeless. Whether it is fear, or a ridiculous amount of rationality stopping me, who knows.

Regardless of what was said to me, I personally made resolutions on New Years (like most people). I hoped to actually complete them this year. Whether or not that remains to be seen, comes down to two things. The second half of this year and whether or not I'll try flying again, like I did with my faeries as a child and do what I am most passionate about, regardless of how long it takes.

Loitering in corners and walking sideways through edges.
Moony.

Quotitarian Quiffery (or: Life and the Universe though Terry Pratchett)

Due to this thing called Life which does tend to fly through you rather than with you. Like a regular old aeroplane, I missed my usual Thursday quote muse. Not that there is much of a problem with missing it seeing as Time just sits there until you do something with it. Though just sitting there tends to make it melt a too quick. Sort of like leaving your ice cream cone on a table. Ice cream and tables are a bad combination. Stick them together for even two seconds and you'll still find yourself having to frenetically lap up the drippy bits.

This is a wall. It is built of bits from other walls. The Question: Is it an original wall or just a lazy one?

Anyway, I've corraled Time with some velcro-strapped Semtex just to keep things interesting. I'm actually supposed to piling up the desserts for Easter tomorrow. Whoever decided Easter required desserts is probably trying to sell you something and frankly I cannot see the point of it. (Well, that part at least). I can and love the part of Easter which involves solving a series of elaborate riddles in order to locate the years stash of chocolate eggs.

Easter is one of those events which can be aptly summed up by the following genius:

"The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it."
— Terry Pratchett (Diggers (Bromeliad Trilogy, #2))

Whether it is how one is supposed to celebrate the events listed on your mass produced calendar (if you roll that way), or if it is what events your are even supposed to celebrate, the entire point of humanity seems to be a race to make the bathwater of the brain overflow with ideas and thoughts that are not actually your own. How do you know you even have your own thoughts? They are so influenced and effected by your surroundings, the people, the place and the things in it. Plus those people, the place and the things have all had influence from other sources as well. So really, your brain is a bathtub in which all sorts of scented bubble soaps are dumped, in attempt to create another individual who can carry on a certain idea or concept. That way, of course, the originator doesn't have to be alone. Right? Well, that's just me trying to find a positive reason behind the exploitation that drived 99.9% of everything in this society.

Before these pillars. A building existed. Orginally, of course.

 Then again, some format of bathwater is needed and no one can survive as an entirely blank slate simply because humans also happen to be descended from animals who do not necessarily think before they act. Which is why the classic snap trap with some sort of tasty food beneath it, will always work, unless you're dealing with a cat. They have opinions. And schedules. Don't Ever, Ever, mess them up. They are masters at the death-ray glare. So, perhaps it is okay to be influenced because it's going to happen, unless you have decomposed into dirt and by that point you're probably just weasling around greedy roots that are trying to squish you to some alternative form of death that only dirt can have. That said, once influenced, humans stop at nothing to poke things. It's hilarious to think about, I mean, who cannot laugh at a phrase like this:

The Doctor: "...there's something that doesn't make sense. Let's go poke it with a stick." (Doctor Who S5.7).

If you didn't at least chuckle there must be something wrong with you and I suggest you check in with your local automaton shop and request an upgrade in your humour lobes. Then again, poking things with sticks is also highly dangerous for the indivduals involved in the poking and, if you want to get dark, the individuals or things being poked could also be at risk. Don't go pressing any Big Red Buttons unless you are absolutely certain of the consequences. The great Terry Pratchett agrees with me these counts.

"Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry."
— Terry Pratchett (Thief of Time (Discworld, #26))

Well, he mostly agrees. On the things that should count, like that people have an insatiable curiousity and regardless of the apocalyptic, planet-blowing-up consequences, 9.99999 times out of 10, humans will race to the finish line of "Who Can Poke That Thing First" and proceed to cause problems for the Universe. Then again, he prefers switches over buttons and that I cannot quite agree with, after all, what's more inviting? A giant red button you could dramatically pump your fist down on or a switch that you could twig up and down with a pinky?

Spot the Moon. It's been the Big Button in the Sky since humanity's post-ape days.

Then again that really is entirely up to the Kettle of Esthetics. Which (conveniently) leads me into another point regarding the Limbs of Human Thought-Processes which are just asking to be tickled to a metaphorical death. See, esthetics, being basically how pretty something is to an indvidual's eyesight, leads right back to that whole idea about individual choice. Just how much of your esthetic choices are truly your own? Probably nil. Tragic thought isn't it? That none of your thoughts are probably originally yours. Even if you were raised by wolves and lived like a hermit in the middle of the tundra you will still be influenced by that lifestyle. And wolves. So perhaps the idea of not having a single one of your own unique thoughts is okay. Because everyone and everything is sitting in the same boat (minus any tigers).

I finally got around to watching The Lego Movie recently and it rather deftly deals with ideas of originality, the freedom of the individual to create and what happens when you are influenced to create certain things in a certain way. But I'll not go into here as I'm attempting to focus on Terry Pratchett in this particular ramble. Though even with Terry Pratchett you could spend hours to years analysing his works because of the piquant universal insights he has wrapped in a genius fantasy world of endless humour. Sadly it is because of that particular choice of wrapping paper that universities have yet to add him onto any reading lists.

Then again, in a hundred years Terry Pratchett might very well end up on a reading list, after all, Jane Austen and Dickens were considered to be the sort of leisure reading done by young girls or working class individuals lacking in morality or intellect. Nowadays anyone who reads those two are considered almost as high-nosed as anyone who as actually read (and I mean cover to cover with no skimming) James Joyce's Ulysseys for example. Though anyone who hasn't and still says they have are about as worse as the depth of Mariana's Trench, which is to say, deeply worse. 

The day a cat treats you like a Freshly Laundered Pile, you're probably famous. They don't associate with grass-stains.

In a messy bow-tie of all my musings around these scant few Terry Pratchett gems I entreat you to keep your eyes always moving. When you are trekking through whatever dusty, muddy or tidy concrete sidewalk you happen to be currently on, don't just look at the path so you can skip the cracks or the roots, make sure you avoid other people moving in other directions, or branches, branches are violent. They'll poke out your eyes. If you aren't looking first. Be aware the things you celebrate are largely a mass social construct devised primarily to eat holes in your wallet and make them less about stuff and more about imagination. Make up stories to explain why you do things that have nothing to do with bunnies or baskets or even the religions you follow. Try making up your own personal mythology. Make sure to do a taste test, like baking cookies, you cannot bake your own mythology without making sure it tastes good to you first. Once you've done so, add this mythology to whatever else existed first, whether it was related to bunnies and baskets or your particular religion.

Guess what you've just done? You've created something new. Sure, it might still sit the the trappings many other people follow, but there will be parts personalized for just you. That's how you can keep an open mind and still poke things with sticks without causing too much of a baking soda and vinegar explosion. It's as simple as that stereotyped science project. Except now, maybe instead of placing that mixture in a volcano you've dropped it down cardboard toiletpaper tubes and have it aimed at your bath tub. After all, in the words of Terry Pratchett (through the voice of Death):    

"Death: Human beings make life so interesting. Do you know, that in a universe so full of wonders, they have managed to invent boredom."
— Terry Pratchett (Hogfather (Discworld, #20))

Don't fall prey to boredom. Keep that life interesting. Keep creating. Though in case of boredom, know this:

"A good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read."
— Terry Pratchett (Guards! Guards! (Discworld, #8))

Also this: 

"He'd been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower."
— Terry Pratchett (Mort (Discworld, #4))

And don't forget: 

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." 
— Terry Pratchett (A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, #32))

Tickling away Time. And sort of, but not really, apologizing for the conveyor-belt of quotes that are meant to provide pithy insight into things like missing socks and broken pencils.

Moony.

P.S: As an admirer of Terry Pratchett's genius I also follow his environmental consciousness regarding the use of the English language. In other sentences, that is all just to say: 

"This [post] was written using 100% recycled words."
— Terry Pratchett (Wyrd Sisters (Discworld, #6))

It's an Imaginary Life

I have never, ever seen a pine needles worth of "It's A Wonderful Life" and I have no desire to. My life is full of a million other things still to come, catching up requires certain requirements before I will do so. But, I do live in a particular society that prevents one from entirely and permanently stashing their head in the sand, thereby inflicting me with horrible pop music and "classic" movie titles like "It's A Wonderful Life."

Though, I will admit I almost want to see this sci-fi movie called "Twelve Monkeys," just because it got referenced in Cabin Pressure when the character's were playing a game of movie title sentences. One example was: "What's Eating Gilbert Grape? Twelve Monkeys." Haven't seen the first one mentioned either, but I go for sci-fi over most things and what sort of sci-fi movie is called "Twelve Monkeys?" I mean, nonsense! Utter nonsense!

The Omphalos. A bellybutton of the world. Nonsense? Creativity.

Then again, I have never seen "Snakes on a Plane" and that is about as weird as titles get, though I did see the Doctor Who knock-off called "Dinosaurs on a Spaceship" but again, that was Doctor Who and therefore it filled in the requirement of me knowing something about the genre or show that I would like. And I did. Mostly. It's hard not to like an episode of Doctor Who, well, that is, unless you start thinking too much and you get a headache or start getting irritated with the writer's adoration of epic storylines and cliffhangers. Me, I love a good epic and cliffhangers are so entertaining (I mean, look at BBC's Sherlock after the end of season 2 and all the theories of how he survived the fall. England went insane for the months following and the internet was insane for two years. More insane than usual).


Thing is, Twelve Monkey's is a sci-fi movie. Just that. Plain and simple and sometimes I need more than that to delve into someone else's world. Often I need to just watch it with someone else. That's how I pulled off getting through a few of the Oscar movies this year. Others, I get to gorge on my shallow human side which usually gets squashed into the basement of my Tower Library (mind), and things will be delved into because of a favourite writer like Neil Gaiman's rather contemplative almost lit fiction book "The Ocean at the End of the Lane" or hey look, my favourite actor happens to be in that film. And so on. I don't always adore the product because of those preconcieved conditions that made me pick them up in the first place and I often stumble into things out of boredom or adventurousness and end up down a track I never saw. Then again, 90% of the time the preconcieved conditions ring true and I come out the end with a warm belly of contentment. A bit like good food, pleasant company and mild sunshine. Or, like the first two minutes of a cat sitting on you. 

A lost shoe. Nonsense? Forgotton Childhood. Creativity.

Anyway, all that ramble about preconcieved conditions before trying new things came about because of comment, reply, comment a friend and I had on facebook.

He said: If you could escape this world and live in a world of your own making, what would you do, knowing that you forever forefit the world you do not choose?

I replied with: I don't see why there would be any forefit if you were living in a world of your own making. In a world of your own making it should be filled with your intention which thereby leaves no room for regrets. Seeing as this is the start of a deeper conversation I will leave what I would do for a lengthier area. Though, I will just say; I would, I will and shall always be, a storyteller.

He replied to this with: Some people are incapable of designing an imaginary life. Hence the need to forefit one or the other.

I was incredulous and finished the exchange with: Seriously?! Anyone incapable of designing an imaginary life needs to be put down. Dramatically. Now. Or maybe I should pull out my staff and knock their brains about a bit.  

Okay. So I was a bit dramatic myself, but if you have caught one or two of my posts you'll probably already recognize one part of my default setting sits on dramatic. I'm a writer. It's what we do best. That aside, his reply made me think about how I have met so many people, of all ages who say: I'm not creative. They panic when asked to imagine and say, "What!?" No! I can't! I have no imagination!"

I sigh out a breath and then take in a breath. Then I have one of two replies depending on the person. Either I say, "use your five senses. Imagine the tastes, smells, feeling and visuals of...*insert thing being imagined here*

If that fails, and it does, I'll get the person to find the theme that connects two very opposite things. Try it now. Just for fun. (For those who forgot high school English: a theme is the unifying idea or concept of a product, usually a book, but it works in life).


A spider. The sun. 

A toothpick. A potato.

Earbuds. Elephants. 

How was that? Easy? Tough? Fun? Annoying? Did you come up with more than one theme? Whatever the case, the best thing about creativity, which makes it the best and worst thing on the planet for a person's self-confidence, is that it is highly subjective (read: There. Is. No. Right. Answer). 


That is still a hard thing for me to be okay with. I was frozen in terror a couple weeks ago when I shared some of my sci-fi work with the local library's writer-in-residence; one, because most of the professional writers I've met in real life (read: university) were very snobbish about the place genre fiction did not have in the writing world Hall of Art. Two, because I haven't shared my work with anyone more than that friend who prompted this post and occasionally my mom and a class of bored Grade Nine students.


Yet I keep trekking with it because it is scary and because I am starting to realize it does not matter what people think of my work because all the people in the world will never, ever be happy with your work. I mean, take the Oscars for example, that is The Award for film creatives and yet it is equal parts subjective and bureaucratic. Yay for social images. On a small personal scale I can say I adore Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" but his recent "The Ocean at the End of the Lane" was good, but it was a chore (a short chore, of 200 some pages but a chore) to get through. It was sweet and if you are a storyteller in any form, it feels like home but I gravitate more to books that put me in the flow, the sort of books that I come out of, gulping air and realizing "oops, it's four hours later than I intended." A book a grabbed just because it was a steampunk fantasy called "A Conspiracy of Alchemists" by Liesel Schwarz is my latest flow book. 

Let the buds of your mind bloom.

Anyway, creativity. Imagination. Perhaps I am not the best to be writing about it, or being derisive about those who people "who are incapable of designing an imaginary life" but I honesty do find it hard to believe because you can imagine as much as you can eat. It can be as quantifiable or as nonesensical as you personally desire. Here's another good practice at creativity, especially for those who are iron-willed logical.


How many otters can you imagine? 

A nonsensical person like me would instantly reply with the dramatic word, "a million!"

But can you really imagine a million? Logically? No. Unless...

Put all those otters somewhere. Try, say, an aeroplane. Let's also take a smaller number, say, a hundred otters. 

Imagine one hundred otters in a 16 seat aeroplane. 

Now can you do it? Plot it logically. Stick the otters on seats, under seats, in overhead compartments, in the flight deck, the galley etc. 

So my caveat to those who say that cannot, or people who say certain individuals are incapable, I say no one is incapable. Sometimes all it takes is a little logic and even a nonsensical person like myself who can happily suspend a lot of logical belief in the face of many things (because I'll just fill the holes in myself with my own creative juices), might need some sense.  

So now you are creative! Awesome! Or at least its cooking. Takes time to cook a good soup. Now I want you to imagine a world of your own making. What would you do? Just know that whatever you chose for your world, you cannot unmake that choice. You will forfeit all else. 

You might be surprised by how simple your answer is. 

In my world. I would always be a storyteller. 

I do like to take things further. Writer's like details. 

My world would be a cottage, tiny house, tree house, cabin by water or by thick old forest, a place for my books, a piano and writing tools. Quill pen, 1940's typewriter, laptop, tablet, pencil and paper...

Isn't life actually, frightening simple?

Scary.

You're probably already living parts of it. All you need to make it your universe, might be to let go of the feelings of Right or Wrong. Be creative. Be an Imaginist. (Someone who connects things together to create something new, at least seven times a day). 

What's your imaginary life? 

Reminding Imaginary People,
Moony.