prospect from a hill

What a great day - I worked so well, from 10-3 without stopping, really forging ahead on my essay... and I came across so many poets I hadn't known, and liked them...

I took a bunch of photos today but I'm not sure yet how they came out.

Moomin was overflowing with happiness about the zoo camp again, and was full of questions. He enjoyed the drive along Portola and the view from the hill over the city and the bay... It had gotten so sunny and beautiful out... He read all the signs to me, and we talked about the rainbow flags in the Castro... He mentioned that it is "weird" that Masha and Quilty are married. I mentioned that they really love books. "What! So do I! So, they are my friends!" He delicately inqured if they were going to have babies. (I'm sure he was wondering about mechanics but I didn't go into it.) Then decided would be best for them if they have twins, and dressed them exactly alike in pants with dinosaurs on them and striped shirt, but one stripe would be different, and they could switch places and almost no one would notice, but Moomin would notice the stripe and catch them at their tricks. He said that twins always do that in stories. I can't think what books with twins he's ever read!

We met Quilty and Masha at the Overly Hip Cafe. So good to see them! My happiness at seeing friends gets more and more intense as I get older... We were talking with the guy sitting next to us on the couches, an affable german ph.d. student reading papers on circadian rhythms in hot-water pondscum at Yellowstone Park. (Whatever the elegant term for that is. You know what I mean.) Quilty and Moomin drew dot-to-dot pictures. Moomin finished coloring some penguins for me and made a dot-to-dot of "I love you" for me on it . I think he and Masha talked about science while Quilty quizzed me on school (phd or no? I think no. I spoke very frankly about Prof. F. ) Gossip about books. Gossip about movies. Masha nagged me to write a novel. Oh, this blogging thing, all very well, and poetry, what was I wasting my time for? Write the novel - the world awaits. (Ha.) I know her methods, and can stand up to her full frontal attacks... I warned her that whenever I try to write fiction, it's hugely obvious thinly-disguised autobiography. She said that was okay and so what - it's unfeminist or something to say that thinly-disguised autobiography is somehow lesser than other fiction. (Touchingly, she didn't seem to realize that means if I were to write some such thing, she might be in it.)

We all doted upon Moomin some more. Chula worked on her novel at the other end of the cafe, typing away like crazy with headphones on... Q. and M. had to leave to have dinner with M.'s parents and so me and Chula and Moomin had dinner across the street at Firecracker which turned out to be very dull food and weirdly expensive. How people can buy nice ingredients that sound fancy, and make them come out so very bad, I can't imagine. Don't they taste it? Chula listened sweetly to my excited ramblings about my project and the day's researches... We gossiped some more... Moomin began to get antsy. I miss her this week as both of us are working super hard and plus my schedule is messed up b/c of the driving Moomin all over the place.... so it was nice to have dinner...

And then the drive home with Moomin. Lots of talking -- and the amazing Sizzle Him Up Like a Sausage song. Which existed as I wrote it but which also kept returning as a theme so that he sang "We'll sizzle him up like a sausage" about 200 times in a row. We screamed at the "Monster Park" signs - you have to go "Monster Park! AaaaAAAAAAA!" whenever you see one - and then home to Rook, who did the puttting-to-bed work while I did laundry, dishes, unpacking of the day's junk, grocery store for bread... We watched the last 2 episodes of the early 80s BBC Pride and Prejudice, which I was sure would hold up to my perceptions of them, though I was only 10 or so. (And they did hold up. They're great!) Rook agreed with me and Badgerina Bennett that our inclinations towards Mr. Darcy are perverse. He also did me the great favor of repeating the line about "Dearest, Loveliest Badgerina, you have properly humbled me..."

Really, how could it be any nicer?

Comments

[toobeaut]

Everyone has to write poorly-disguised autobiographical fiction at first until they get it out of their system -- the alternative is to write about a time and a person completely unlike you. Then it's an exercise in identifying totally with another time, place and frame of mind.

My personal opinion is that the world needs more poets more than it needs more novelists; poetry is much, much harder.

[jo]

Then again, who needs to READ more poetry? Geck.

Present company excepted, of course.

[serena]

I have come to the conclusion that fiction-writing is an utterly different process from poetry-writing or creative non-fiction writing, and your brain can easily be wired to do one or two but not all. I have never written a passable piece of fiction in my life; when I read true fiction-writers, I am in awe at the mystery of the process. I have noticed this in art and music, too--I can't do what I'd LIKE to do, or think I OUGHT to do, I can only do what I DO.

When you've started on pieces of fiction, from my perspective your process appears to be more cerebral than creatively organic. And thus it Bogs Down. You truly shine, and enter the Flow, in the creative non-fiction processes of blogging, essay-writing and autobiographical poetry-writing. This is wondrous, and certainly plenty for one lifetime!

[Ms. Jane]

To this day, whenever my older brother and I see falling rock signs (which is a regular occurance in PA, NJ, and CO) we cry in unison "FALLING ROCK SIIIIIIIGGGGNNNN!!!" then lightly slap each other about the head and shoulders while screaming "AHHHHH!!!"

It's one of those delightful time-traveling moments that happens every so often with sibs, when you're suddenly transported into the back seat of the station wagon with Mom at the wheel.

Follow this link to see a falling rock sign: http://hockyplayr.tripod.com/thermal.html