Polar Opposites

It's been one of those strange Decembers. I spent a little bit of time a few weeks ago (the day after the Victorian state election) reflecting on how things were going with my current batch of mentees to work out whether I would finish up any of the arrangements. While I decided to persevere, it was line ball for one I have been mentoring in creative writing. It has subsequently been paused for other reasons but this "on the line feeling" made it much easier to let go.

I am not sure if I was in the right frame of mind to think about the year that's been and the year to come. The recent passing of a younger friend distracted me from working through the exercise systematically. And I found myself writing an observational piece (in a third person voice) as my stocktake notes that sparked a raft of creative writing ideas for further stories and poetry. 

What is it about sadness that opens the floodgates?

I converted one of those ideas into a poem today, hoping it would wash away my melancholy.  The theme for this piece was inspired by several conversations with that particular mentee. This mentee and I are as different as two people could possibly be other than our mutual interest in being inspired by writing and trying to make some impact through work to address the adverse risks of climate change.  Interesting that even when folks are at each end of a spectrum, a chasm between them, they can still find common ground.  Anyway, the poem I wrote - called Polar Opposites - is reproduced below.

Cats vs Dogs

Her feline ways preen enthusiastic indifference.

His canine spirit soaks in unconditional affirmation.

Both demanding non-interest and attention 

respectively and collectively in unrelenting waves.

Open vs Closed

She is open and direct and brutally honest

with every word that spills from her mouth unfiltered.

He is a closed book still in its original wrapping

and not a single page readable written in invisible ink.

Words vs Music

Both relate to the senses stroking sound of notes

words for the soul or music to the ears

penning toner and dancing fingers as mighty as each other

in releasing avalanches of emotional narratives.

Conceptual vs Analytical

Her imagination epitomises Renaissance Impressionism

a dreamscape so vivid day and night second by second.

He barely remembers dreaming at all 

and life is a mathematical construct structured black and white.

Water vs Land

She whimsically floats and swims delighted by birds and sea life

slips and slides across beach sand dunes searching for shells.

He canters and sprints across mountain terrain

a man on a mission competing with himself to be better.

Darkness vs Light

Both relate to the ups and downs 

of the planet around them

and the humanity under their skin and flowing through their veins

clutching at gratitude to fuel some semblance of optimism.

What if vs What is

Despite being poles apart neither accept the disintegrating world as it is

and long to build something better and make a difference

strive for what could be for future generations 

a planet’s life sustained re-sown to grow and thrive anew.

reflections on 2022 - the joy of the ordinary

I normally write my year overall creative writing process reflections in that space between Christmas and New Years each year. I'm a little earlier than usual because it's been a year bookended with two funerals and I have been feeling more reflective as a result. Keen to clean the slate and start afresh in the year ahead. 

• At the start of the year, my younger brother passed away after a battle with stage 4 lung cancer. I won't relive the feelings of that start to the year but related reflections are covered in a posting from then (see http://no1foofan.blogspot.com/2022/01/dwindling.html).

• Earlier in December, I attended the funeral (via Zoom), and a wake shortly after of remaining locals, of a younger friend who was part of a circle of friends that featured in my first few years in Melbourne, but with whom I lost touch with over the last half a dozen years. That younger friend, 'Sharpy', was part of a 'Drummond St Posse' - a group of IT software designers and artists/musicians I spent time with when I moved to Melbourne. They were a wild party bunch and Sharpy was (ironically) a super-shy host. A certain alter-ego hidden in me was coaxed out by this group - "Mistress Lucy" formed the basis of a character I was writing at the time in a novel. That novel explored the what if I'd made different choices in my life question, and what that life might have been like. I wore a isotopic bright copper red wig and carried a matching cat-o-nine tails (whip) as part of an ever so occasional 'dress-up' for these parties (mimicking Barbarella, though with a colour more appropriate to my skin tone) in an effort to get into the head of this novel character.  I 'coloured-up' again ahead of the memorial to pay homage to those times past as the group reminisced about Sharpy via the sharing of old photos. All I could think about as I listened to the service was how that introverted boy, no longer of this earth, departed way too soon.

In between these two melancholy bookends to the year that was, I have experienced extra-long stretches of writers' block, associated procrastination (many of those moments reported in my blog posts through the year), yet also moments of joy doing quite ordinary things. I have also highlighted at length in recent blog posts just how much spending time around close friends and talking about anything and everything had fuelled that conscious euphoria that makes life worth living.

I was reminded of this concept reading this book on the recommendation of a friend recently - https://www.bookdepository.com/The-Unexpected-Joy-of-the-Ordinary/9781783253371. The book itself was okay - a best seller apparently - and had its moments but overall I found it to be just average. It did have one killer point though - the author covered the science of gratitude. The statistics referenced in the book: only 50 per cent of our happiness is pre-determined, while 10 per cent is circumstance, and the remaining 40 per cent is influenced by what we do ('intentional activity') and one of the ways we can change that 40 per cent is gratitude. On the latter statistic, the book mentioned talking in what I am grateful for language builds optimistic disposition. Beyond the science stuff, the only genuine highlight (for me) of this book was the list of things that made the author grateful - every day ordinary things that sparked joy - it's a great list! I related to that part of the book. Some examples from her list that resonated most strongly with me are reproduced below [...Along with my own reflections]:

• prowling the park for cute dogs to pat and saying 'can I?' to bemused owners. [...Although I don't prowl; I meander, sometimes channelling my wondrous inner-tween.]
• learning to fix things myself via the magical learning portal of YouTube. [...Unless it involves use of sharp tools where my clumsiness makes for extra challenges.]
• being touched, and no, not necessarily like that. Holding a friend's hand, someone stroking my inner forearm, a cuddle from a cat; these all count. [...I would add a firm hug from a tall friend is almost always wonderful - it's like being cocooned in a comforting blanket cave. (Unless the tall friend was raised Protestant - they are the worst huggers on the planet; the feeling then is more like a cold wet lettuce.)]
• catching a spider and releasing it back into the wild. Remembering I am thousands of times larger than it, and that Arachnophobia was a work of fiction. [...Huntsmen spiders are not as scary as they look, and it is important to spare them from inevitable torture that would come if discovered inside the house by household pets.]
• Browsing online galleries of tiny homes, houseboats and tree houses. Seeing how other people live joyfully with so little space. [...I also like perusing floor plans to see if winter sun features in aspect.]
• Going on an obsessive deep dive once I discover a new artist, writer or thinker. [...Big time! I can't believe I still get crushes at my age!]
• Using words that sound like what they're describing. Roundabout. Mist. Helter-skelter. Sparkle. [...Onomatopoeia is my favourite use of sound in lyrics.]
• Hanging out with people I love and meeting new ones. Enough though my introverted streak always tries to talk me out of going to the gathering, I never regret having gone. [...Absolutely!]

The writers' block remains an issue. I have a hard deadline of delivering a first draft of the current manuscript by late 2023. I'm only one-third of the way through drafting it. I have already decided to pause for the next few weeks and start fresh on the first Sunday of January 2023.  In the meantime, I am using my usual Sunday writing time to shape a few short-story concepts along with some poetry. These latter pursuits have been inspired by conversations with my favourite mentee muse (who is reading about creative writing processes via my essay length email reflections, these reflections themselves a procrastination biproduct). The conversations have tempted me to consider writing a contemporary fiction novel - a departure from my usual preferred speculative fiction genre. It's been a while since I've done that. I may work up a rough story board over the festive season and consider whether it could be the next novel once I finish the current manuscript drafting!  It's always good to have a pipeline of potential stories - long and short form - no shortage of those given my dreamscape. Starting is never the issue. Finishing, on the other hand, is a whole different challenge. 

I am optimistic I will create strong story ideas, even produce a few short stories and poetry, through the year to come, and will achieve my main writing goal and complete the Peitho trilogy.