state of my mind
Sunday, I planned to write at least 2 blog posts, 1 for each blog. I had just turned on my laptop when Spouse returned from running errands and suggested we go together on a few more. I made quick notes on my laptop with my ideas, and off we went.
Out with the bile-colored entrance rug — in with the ochre-blue-green entrance rug. We now have 2 nesting end tables, with mosaic-tiled tops in peacock shades and black.
I’ve spoken with Spouse about an area rug I’ve seen, in shades of soft blues, greens, and ivory, that I think would suit our bedroom. He’s interested. Our place is finally going to look like a home!
For a few years now, I’ve been looking online and everywhere else for a new teapot. Recently, I’ve been looking for a new teakettle as well. Today, I saw a teakettle that I want to get a second look at. It’s fire engine red. Any shade of red is not usually one of my colors, but this teakettle keeps sneaking back into my mind’s eye when I’m thinking of something else.
Spouse has been watching football games (or rewatching LOTR) for hours and hours lately because the Elephants Upstairs are destroying his concentration for anything else. For some reason, they are especially noisy at night, often very late at night (past midnight). At least 2 people were having a heated argument at 3 a.m. a few nights ago; luckily, they were in the front room, above me, rather than in the bedroom, above sleeping Spouse.
I need to do laundry. Ugh.
Spouse photographed me in front of and beside Tenimah (maple tree behind our balcony). I photographed Tenimah, Anamara (another maple tree), and Callie (cottonwood tree), after hugging all of them. Don’t know why I never thought of hugging them before. Well, probably because I mostly interact with them from the balcony, not from the ground.
The leaves on the maples are changing: green to reddish-orange tips; Callie’s leaves are still green.
Am reading Phillip Lopate’s To Show and To Tell: The Craft of Literary Nonfiction. Interesting to discover that boundless curiosity, introspection, and a willingness to root around in one’s own thought process . . . are actually good for something — writing essays. Of course, there are plenty of other aspects of effective essay writing that I don’t think I’m skillful at yet. But now I have something I can be working towards.
“In the best nonfiction, it seems to me, you’re always made aware that you are being engaged with a supple mind at work. The story line or plot in nonfiction consists of the twists and turns of a thought process working itself out . . . What makes me want to keep reading a nonfiction text is the encounter with a surprising, well-stocked mind as it takes on the challenge of the next sentence, paragraph, and thematic problem it has set for itself. The other element that keeps me reading nonfiction happily is an evolved, entertaining, elegant, or at least highly intentional literary style. The pressure of style should be brought to bear on every passage.” (p. 6)
I have things that I haven’t much tried to write about here, or on werdivory, but I want to. I’ve always wanted to. Maybe they should be essays more than my more-usual higgledy-piggledy blog posts.
It’s likely helpful that I’ve gotten 353,000 words out of my system (on this blog) already. I wonder what my writing voice would sound like if it were less confessional.
I’ve found something literary (and local) for me to do over Thanksgiving weekend, which is usually very quiet for us.
Not doing Nanowrimo this year, although people I follow on Twitter are.
Feeling raw, and sad.