I'm alive, I'm alive

June ends in a frenzy. This reminds me of the old ways. Five different places in one day, miles between and more to do but I go, I go.

The greatest of teachers won't hesitate

Road trips bring out the best parts of me: adventurous and inspired, laidback and ready. I keep good company with myself. I travel for the sake of it. Not running from, not running to. Simply moving. You have to love this road. It becomes you.

We're too cool to be here long

But not too crazy to get busted.

(Entry started last night and finished today.)

Whilst cranky earlier, I had the sudden urge to download an old song that I loved (and that inspired the domain name of this blog). As expected, it improved my life.

Listen. Love it.

...

It's easy to romanticize the beauty of the writing process. Honestly, I spend a decent amount of time hedging. I hedge very well. I think about what I should write, and submit, and sort of frolic around until I make it happen.

But tonight was a good night. Took the laptop to Starbucks, sat in the corner, and got going. No putzing about or Googling around after I type a sentence. I just wrote, and it went, and I was satisfied.

On these nights, I believe that I can make it as far as I strive to go.

#174: Laura Marling, "Old Stone"
#175: Laura Marling, "Blackberry Stone"

sleep with one eye open

I took a bit of a break from being a useful person this weekend. There were dance floors that needed feet, ears that needed thousands of teenage girls to scream into them, sketchy parking lots that needed company, actors that needed applause, hearts that needed to be wrenched.

I was quite happy.

There is much negative self-talk, and it returned yesterday in full force. I preach to my gymnasts about positive thinking and thought replacement before their big skills. I talk about how easy it is to psyche one's self out. I should know.

Today I'm working on a short piece about paranoia. I thought it would be fiction, but it seems to lean toward non. And if it's going to be non, and if I send it out, I wonder if I should attach my real name to it. Because I'm paranoid. And so life follows art.

#169: Bon Iver, "Perth"
#170: Ghosts of Paraguay, "Needing You"
#171: Mt. Eden Dubstep, "Still Alive"
#172: Morgan Page, "Fight For You"
#173: John Denver, "Country Roads"

written through the lens of another

Last night, I was chattin' with babes on the Internet (Dom) and working on two pieces. One, I'd just started. It was a "real" piece, one that would "matter."

The other I found accidentally. I'd started it in January. Upon rereading, I had that moment of, "Hey, this is decent and I wish I had kept going with it." Momentum rested with the latter.

Both are nonfiction and circle similar circumstances. I'm in both of them. But it became clear very quickly why the second was (and is) more interesting: it's not about me.

I suppose it is, at the end of the day. But it's more oblique. There is less "follow me around as I meditate upon things" and more "action happening now and I'm there!" More movement. I get out of myself to follow myself.

With the second piece rolling, I see opportunities now to bring in the "real stuff" of the first. Slip it in so that it's there, so that it still holds weight, but it doesn't bring down the other pages. They wish to fly.

...

#167: My Morning Jacket, "Holdin' On to Black Metal" (I knew this sounded familiar!)
#168: Pone Tala Pone, with YouTube saying that the rest is "PM 7 - 60S Psych, Freakbeat from Thailand." How can you turn away? (Just don't stare at the screen for long.)

dissipates

Why are the people outside of my window speaking with the rain?

#166: Regina Spektor, "Fidelity"

give me the beat, boys

I think today, I'll let the music speak.

#162: Neil Young, "Old Man"
#163: Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, "Down By the River"
#164: Allman Brothers, "Ramblin' Man"
#165: AC/DC, "For Those About to Rock"

I'm supposed to be here at 9:30. I arrived at 8:56. Who am I?

Set fire to the rain

I love the electricity.

In other news,

I made minor edits to the template.

If you'll take a gander to your right -->, there is a tiny blurb to serve as a bio, plus a search option.

The search box is there mainly so I can see if I'm repeating songs. But you can most certainly use it, too, however you'd like to.

Additionally, Flo and I will be writing a Disney movie, with a score composed by our MFA/musical friends.

End scene.

...

#161: Belle and Sebastian, "I Want The World to Stop"

If the medium fits...

Smart phones stress me out. I hunch over the teeny-tiny screen and carefully hit each letter. Oops. Gotta back it up and start all over. I visit my normal websites but feel restricted. I know I can pinch my fingers to zoom in or spread them to zoom out. But there's a feeling of I'll just wait until I'm on my computer.

People like my wondrous boyfriend find so much to do on these beasts: apps for heart rate, exercise, journaling, gaming, remote controlling, adjusting studio lights. Spreadsheets (we know how I feel about those) and Office documents.

But I just can't get into that small of a space. The solution would be a larger phone, but they're tremendous and remind me of old cordless phones (remember those?). Or something even larger, like an iPad, but those are silly-looking and completely unnecessary to anyone's lives.

Then something mysterious happened. I became the owner of an iPad.

And...I kinda love it.

The size is just right. I can scoot around the Internet with enough room so that I can see everything without feeling as though I'm straining. And the touch keyboard with the sideways orientation -- love! I fly along.

I can actually picture myself writing on this apparatus, which was what I'd hoped for -- something that functioned like a netbook in capabilities and size, with fun touchy qualities.

Will I write on it for an extended period of time? Will another novel be born? We shall see.

...

#160: Sade, "No Ordinary Love"

disclosure and canciones

I've hooked up my super awesome new piece of technology and the registration page loads. Please enter your name, address, and phone number. I can bypass all of that, right? I don't want spam in the mail or calls from telemarketers.

I click "Next."

The red error message: Please fill out the following fields.

I have always hesitated when it comes to sharing personal information. Why do you need to know where I live or how old I am? No, I do not want email updates. No, no, no.

How closely do I write to my real life on this blog, and where do I stop? Do I write about the burning things for everyone, or for myself? Do I give real names to people and places, or adopt my own?

Flo and I talked blog at the BBQ, where Flo said something in the vein of, "I don't give a shiz about the details of people's personal lives" and I responded with something like, "Oh, I love that stuff." I do -- I love being in other people's heads and in other lives. But I'm not willing to divulge as much.

I started a piece in a workshop two years ago. It generated a good amount of energy, both in the writing of it and in the responses from classmates and the teacher. But it dealt with people and places in maybe too honest a way. For now.

It seems that I can't get away from writing about life, or something very parallel to it. I've mentioned many times my love for nonfiction. But even so. I drift near the current and paddle back.

...
#141: Maroon 5, "Never Gonna Leave This Bed"
#142: Howie Day, "Sorry So Sorry"
#143: Keane, "Somewhere Only We Know"
#144: Muse, "Undisclosed Desires"
#145: Soundgarden, "Spoonman"
#146: Placebo, "Running Up That Hill"
#147: The Smiths, "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out"
#148: Arctic Monkeys, "I Bet You Look Good On the Dance Floor"
#149: Atreyu, "Right Side of the Bed"
#150: The Kooks, "Naive"
#151: Phoenix, "Run Run Run"
#152: Fenix TX, "Threesome"
#153: Green Day, "21 Guns"
#154: Bullet For My Valentine, "Your Betrayal"
#155: Miike Snow, "Silvia"
#156: Miike Snow, "Animal"
#157: Diana Krall, "You Go To My Head"
#158: Emmylou Harris, "Making Believe"
#159: Brad Paisley, "Old Alabama"

Whew!

buenos dias

It's been a jam-packed five days of traveling, humidity, traumatizing childhood amusement park rides, and good people.

Therefore, there are quotes:

Me: "Every time Coach Kim texts me, it shows up as a blank text."
Kyleigh, age 7: "Does he have AT&T? AT&T is the worst."

"Next week at this time, we'll be at the club!" - Rob, 5 pm on a Friday

"It's where I belong." - Matt, discussing the flip phone

Danielle: "Hey, Flo."
Flo: "I'll cut you. What?"

Me: "How's your Tumblr going?"
Flo: "I've already stopped updating."

I love it when my characters have trust issues!

When I woke up at 3:56 am For the airport, I thought, "At least I'll be in the same time zone." I like that - traveling enough to disorient myself.

"Can I have a blanket?"

We are in metaphor country.

This weekend, I traveled down to the shore for our gymnasts' Regional Championships. It was the finale to their season, which began in October.

I wasn't sure how the meet would go. A new environment, lots of activities, lots of giggling and running around the hotel. Sunburn and stubbed toes from the impromptu soccer tournament on the beach. These do not necessarily translate to a good competition.

"We're on a business trip," I said. Nod nod giggle giggle.

But they did, in fact, find focus and pulled off an excellent meet. They treated second place like first place, running into the gym and yelling, "WE GOT SECOND" with their banner. They congratulated one another on every score and clapped throughout each other's routines. They made fun of each other. They got on each other's nerves. They looked out for each other.

All of which has something to do with gymnastics but even more to do with friendship, and comaraderie, and a certain generosity of spirit. Things that remain after the chalk settles.

Take it to the limit

They say gas prices are on their descent. Supposedly. I saw $3.96 in the normal neck of the woods and $4.25 where I work. So it goes.

The newspaper runs its requisite cover story every few months with a photo of a gas pump and screaming text about prices per barrel. A Facebook event will crop up proposing a gas station boycott. My friends complain, everybody complains.

Me, I approach gas prices the way some people approach death: I'll have to buy it inevitably, whatever the cost. Kicking and screaming won't do. I roll with it.

things I held sacred/that I dropped

(I think I used this lyric as a blog title back in, say, 2006 or whenever the song was kickin'.)

In my "What is this blog?" quest, I've come to think of this -- this intangible bit of cyberspace -- as a place for meditation and reflection, a starting point for larger pieces.

Which leads me to reflect on the sacred. There are people who were once vitally important that I now hear from rarely, if at all. I miss some of them, but we keep moving. There were boys that made my heart weep who no longer matter. I used to fear not being in school, but now a year out from grad school, I feel perfectly fine not in the classroom.

But if there is one thing that was once sacred and has now become secondary, it is exercise.

In college, a day didn't pass without going to the gym, or thinking about going to the gym. Elliptical, bike, feet on the sidewalk. Injuries didn't stop me. Snow didn't stop me. Saturday nights didn't stop me. I ate salads and fat-free yogurt. I was slender, but I never wanted to cross that line into not-quite-so-slender. I ran all of it off.

Now I have five jobs, which is no excuse to the people who also have five jobs, and a family, and a dog, and get up at 4 a.m. to train for their marathons. I admire those people. I do not like waking up at 4 a.m. unless I absolutely have to. My days fluctuate and I find it hard to find a rhythm. Excuses, excuses.

Regardless, I find that I don't mind as much when a day passes without a run. I'll get to it eventually in the week, and I usually do, but sometimes I don't. I eat chocolate and don't immediately exercise after. I am back to full-flavored salad dressings, when the mood is right.

And here's the bizarre part: I've lost weight.

My weight danced up and down in college, mainly due to injuries (Diana gains muscles/Diana gets injured and loses all muscle). Now, for the past few months, I've weighed less than I did when I graduated high school. Sure, I must have lost muscle. But I still have definition and I can still bang out pull-ups and chin-ups with the best of them.

Can there be a benefit in not holding on so tightly, so long?

hawaiian pizza

Last night, I drifted to sleep thinking of a short nonfiction piece I'd like to write. Flash nonfiction, perhaps. A brief scene of the wider story.

And then I thought that somebody will probably be offended by this story. It happens sometimes.

• "Why didn't you write about me?"
• "Why did you say this about me?"
• "That's not how it happened/Did that actually happen?/That didn't happen."

1. I just didn't. Sorry.
2. Because I wanted to.
3. I have an excellent memory. I'm not saying I'll remember every conversation verbatim. But put me up against most people I know, and you'll see that I hold the details they overlooked. It's how I did well on tests and used quotes on in-class essays that didn't require quotes. I remember.

I'll take out the names, but I'll still write what I want.

I feel okay with this because I'm not setting out to hurt anyone or air unairable truths. By no means am I writing exposes. I want to write these stories because they are funny, or sad, and I think others will get something from them. They are the stories I find fulfillment in writing.

Metagenomics

is a word I saw yesterday, and wondered about.

But what I want to talk about is this: What is the story you were meant to write?

When I sat in for the last fifteen minutes of Roger's class, he had already thrown that question out to the room. I didn't have to respond, but I scribbled in my notebook anyway. I'm not sure that I found the answer.

If there is just one story, are we simply rewriting it over and over again? If there's more than one, which one weighs more? And, of course, in which form should it be told?

I thought I might take a look at what I've written over the past two years and pull from those themes. Contemporary issues in my writing, if you will.

The predominant ones seem to be:

• Power struggles in relationships: romantic, familial, platonic. Nick and Kristina, Nick and Pete, my YA protag and her BFF, short stories about crazy women and passive men. Both heavy and humorous.
• Departure from the known land into the unknown. Not a willing departure, persay, but a necessary one. I think this is coming closer.
• The borderlands near death and how those left behind react and restructure themselves.
• Athletics as a metaphor for joy, growing up, alternate means of victory. Noise and solitude.

I expect that these will change as my life changes. But they seem to be a universal starting point.

What about you?

...

#140: Broadbelt Guitar Duo, "Seven of Nine" (Tony will enjoy the scientific fun facts in the description)