Am finding it hard to get going today, on anything in particular. I’d like to be working on the re-jig of the DaisyDonnie book 1, to make it a bit more coherent. I’d like to be scouring the interwebs for potential publishers. I’d also like to convert it to eBook format so I can distribute in other mediums (iphone app store?). But I’m not.

My problem is this: I have grown to loathe computers. The use, the aesthetic, the whole typing onto a screen.

And this problem is being fixed in-part by my decision to hand-over all my web development and copywriting work to J & J (among others). But this can’t happen overnight (although it’d be really nice if it could).

The issue spills over into my writing. As I write the books on my mac, and also work on my mac, I’m having trouble distinguishing between the two. One supposedly is a good way to make money (as long as clients pay me of course), the other is a good way to maintain my creativity and my sanity. So I’m looking forward to being able to just step away very, very soon.

Of course, what comes next is anyone’s guess. I’m going to do a course in June (as long as they run it of course) in transpersonal counselling, held at the Phoenix institute in Prahran. This will be totally different from what I’ve done for the last 12 years and thus restore my balance. It’ll also give me the chance to be a uni student for the first time and do the learning thing again, only this time in something I’ve actually chosen rather than being compelled by others (long story, don’t even ask).

But for now, there perhaps needs to be a plan drawn up to extricate myself from my current clientele, and for the passing of work to others. I also need to just relax and go with this: every time I’ve stood my ground and done something I know is right for me, I’ve landed on my feet (rather than my arse).

So, here goes…

I am a frustrated writer. It’s the kind of low-level irritation that, if it were an audio frequency, would be carried for miles and miles by the perfectly configured woofer; it’s that bass frequency that you can hear from across the continent.

Here’s my frustration:

As a writer, I can churn out stories relatively easily (given the right circumstances and the presence of the Muse – more on her later). A fortnight ago I wrote 10,000 words in 3 days, which is pretty good given a book is on average 80-100,000. The muse was with me that night. She’s hanging around nearby but I’ve yet to get her attention; she’s a bit drunk on what looks like a quart of absinthe… yes, Absinthe, she just swigged the bottle and giggled, the bitch.

What I find irritating is that there seems only to be one way to get work “public” – to rely on publishing companies that are inundated with manuscripts, or to try to find a magazine that has a gap or likes your work.

I’ve whined about this issue to friends: artists have the option of galleries (and I’m not talking the major ones as they’re the equivalent of the publishing companies). Art is something you can look at, regard, like or dislike in a community setting. There are many different open galleries that can exhibit your work.

Musicians have a similar way of getting work out there. My fabulous housemate is at an open-mike night in Northcote tonight (I’d be there too if it wasn’t that I finished work only about an hour ago and was ravenous to the point of tears. Not going into that at present). A musician can stand on a street corner and strum. If I stand on a street corner and start reading, odds-on I’ll be heckled as a religious nut. Could be amusing though.

I’m aware this could be sounding like sour grapes. It’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to.

A writer is, by definition, a lonely person, slaving over a hot processor creating work of potential genius… for… what? Sure, we can submit work to competitions. We can try and get things published, but there appears to be no way to cut out the middleman and just perform the work in some way, get it out for general consumption without involving the money-men and what’s “likely to sell”. Publishing is, after all, a business.

Am I wrong? Have I missed something?

I just can’t find anything. Writers groups have meetings and chat about their work. It’s a community, sure, and by joining one I get a stack of magazines I’m not interested in, cheap courses that I don’t want to do, the right to go along to meetings (which is nice) and I can even get, in some cases, a professional assessment of my manuscript (for a few hundred dollars that I don’t have. I’m a penniless writer as well as a frustrated one). It’s like when I joined the Australian Society of Technical Writers; what did it get me? A place on a mailing list and nothing else in particular. I’m thinking in purely selfish terms here, I’m aware: the society is great for many people, as are writers groups. But I know (pretty much) how to write, and throughout my life — regardless of courses on offer, being told I should read a great big book cover-to-cover — I’ve learned how to do things by simply DOING them: Practice Makes Perfect. I’m simply not interested in courses on writing, in someone standing at the front of the room telling me “this is what makes a story good” and “this is what makes it bad”. I’m not for formula, I’m for innovation through experimentation. And I know this won’t necessarily make me a bucket of money, either. I’m in it for the enjoyment of the writing; I’m in it to see where the muse takes me.

So what’s the answer?

It’s looking increasingly like I have to get off my arse and just do something myself. Have duplex printer, will produce zines. The magazine I produced with good friends back in 2004-5 worked to a degree. The magazines certainly disappeared from their spots in cafes. And I even managed to sell some. Perhaps that’s the short-term answer to my bleating: take it to the people.

Opinions greatfully accepted at this point. Me, I’m going to eat my rapidly cooling dinner. Au Revoir.

I just watched Vampire Hunter D again — an anime with a real set of vampires. You know the ones, don’t like sunlight, suck the blood, hunted, pale skin and definitely don’t like sunlight.

The burning in UV kind of Vampires I’m talking about, not these sparkly tossers that someone has used as a warning against sex.

It occurred to me that there are quite a few cures for this monstrous approach to our pointy-toothed friends of the underworld.

For a start is the aforementioned Vampire Hunter D — a quite interesting story with NO spidermonkeys:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKYye2m19pU&hl=en&fs=1&]

Interview with the Vampire, the movie of Anne Rice’s novel is next on the list.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEY6taM15iE&hl=en&fs=1&]

Then there’s the modern take on Vampires — or at least the late 20th century take with Ultraviolet:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer – Joss Whedon’s long running series (and this video does to Eduardo what we’ve all wanted to do!)

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZwM3GvaTRM&hl=en&fs=1&]

And, of course, Angel.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ny_Om6GtaQ&hl=en&fs=1&]

I’ve yet to see TrueBlood, but I’m told it’s good.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxINMuOgAu8&hl=en&fs=1&]

Bottom-line though, there’s plenty to cancel out the horror of Twilight and its soon to be rushed into a cinema near you abomination… god, I don’t even know the name of the next one. And I don’t care either.

I call this haiku ‘internal disquiet’

Vegetarians
Should not find attractive the
Smell of KFC

Holy crap.

In answer to the question “should I do the testimonial”, I got the following card on the osho zen tarot site…

33. Fighting

Commentary:

The figure in this card is completely covered in armor. Only his glare of rage is visible, and the whites of the knuckles on his clenched fists. If you look closely at the armor, you can see it’s covered with buttons, ready to detonate if anybody so much as brushes up against them. In the background we see the shadowy movie that plays in this man’s mind – two figures fighting for a castle.

An explosive temper or a smoldering rage often masks a deep feeling of pain. We think that if we frighten people away, we can avoid being hurt even more. In fact, just the opposite is the case. By covering our wounds with armor we are preventing them from being healed. By lashing out at others we keep ourselves from getting the love and nourishment we need.

If this description seems to fit you, it’s time to stop fighting. There is so much love available to you if you just let it in. Start by forgiving yourself: you’re worth it.

My horoscope said there would be more change between now and December. My initial reaction was “bloody hell, not more, howsabout some quiet time for me to regroup”… but then, as my housemate commented “not all change is negative”.

She’s a deep one.

How to begin?

At the beginning?

I’m at the other end of an experience where my sense of self was questioned. But it was an aspect of myself; that I am a writer.

A series of statements were made about a piece of writing I’d done. What was perceived by the other person as simple questions and statements, criticism and banter was taken by me as an attack because of the manner and approach. I reacted to the words that were said, took them to heart… and things went downhill for a while.

The event is over now; apologies made, no ill meant… but I’m still interested in the way I reacted. 

It began as feeling uncomfortable and escalated into horrible depression (sort-of a contradiction in terms of course as depression is felt to be down and escalation is more of an up-word), terrible sadness… my confidence disappeared, I felt like I had been stripped bare.

Uncomfortable doesn’t even come close.

And now I find myself feeling uncomfortable once more.

I’m sitting here watching an episode of The Prisoner, called Schizoid Man.

In summary, it’s where The Prisoner — number 6 — is brainwashed into thinking he’s another person. This new person — number 12 — is to put “number 6″ (the real replacement) off-balance and replace him. The story revolves around identity, an identity which the man who is labelled number 6 has resisted since he was kidnapped.

Long story short, I find much of this episode unnerving. As I do with anything I see or watch that revolves around identity and having it removed, ignored or forcibly changed.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve had such a difficult time with identity for much of my life, I find any challenge to the person I define myself as very difficult to bear.

I define myself as a writer; professionally-so for 10 years, personally for longer. It’s the one part of myself that’s remained clearly defined in my own head for the longest time. Other than my gender of course — but that’s another story that I’m unwilling to speak of (the reasons will become apparent one day).

But I think the whole “I am a writer” has become the overriding identity, simply because it’s remained consistent.The gender stuff… well, those that know me will know that it’s not that simple.

So when my identity, my writing which I identify myself with so much, is challenged, I…

Well, looking back, the reaction was much the same of the ill-fated Prisoner. I was off-balance, my sense of self and my identity questioned, it set my mind off like dominoes falling, one knocking into the other.

Who was I? Why wasn’t my friend accepting what I was saying. This IS me…

…isn’t it?

Identity is a funny thing. I can define myself as “A” or “B” or even “C” (sorry, another obtuse The Prisoner reference) but am I really any of these things?

Personality, like so many other things, is a continuum; changeable given the right circumstances. This leads perhaps to the question: “who am I not?”

Not even a good question unfortunately. At this point, I can no more define myself that way as I can in the more obvious.

The ultimate question then:”Who am I?”

And I don’t think I’ve ever known that.

I’ve tried defining myself as a gender, but that’s not worked. I am that gender, but it’s only one dimension. I define myself as a writer, but that’s a passtime, a job, a love.

A good person? Well, mostly. No, that’s not fair to myself. I have moments of instability, but then don’t we all?

I aspire to better myself. Now I’m quoting Star Trek.

A geek? Well, I use technology to achieve aims and goals… and it interests me to be sure.

A vegetarian then?

No, defining yourself by what you do or don’t eat is as pointless as the rest.

A happy person? Bland but true. Mostly. Unless my identity is challenged.

But seeing as I’ve now identified that I don’t know what my identity is, can my identity can ever really be challenged?

It’s a circular argument, with no beginning and end; a moebius loop of black nylon, stretching and twisting but never going anywhere. It can no more be challenged than a flickering flame can be extinguished by a glance. It is but what it is is not defineable. I think therefore I am.

And where does that leave me?

It’s kind of odd now I’ve identified the underlying issue, and I realise now that perhaps not knowing who I am gives me the very freedom I’ve craved my whole life.

I don’t have to be what you want me to be. I don’t have to be what society wants me to be. I don’t have to be what work or play or custom make everyone else. I am fluid and can be whatever I need to be depending on the moment.

There are two things to be careful of mind you: first that I don’t just change myself and my mind to suit others or circumstance, and second, that if my awareness of this slips — if I forget — then I may land where I did with my friend: fixated on a single aspect of myself which is being questioned.

As with everything though, awareness is the key.

Just watched two episodes of Fringe, the new Lost Creator JJ Abrams high-falutin’ drama series.

I liked the first episode, it worked on a few levels (although it did begin to drag near the end), and had a nice twist to the tale.

I didn’t like the second episode, and here’s why:

1. Bad guy, a complete nutter is killing women under gruesome circumstances

2. Hero Protagonist tracked the killer many years earlier with no success, and therefore with lots of melodrama in the episode.

3. Serialised TV.

Point 3 isn’t so-much a criticism as a “yawn”. UK TV has had serialised television for nearly 50 years. Why is it suddenly so cool and hip now that American TV has caught-on?

Point 2: Boring. Boring. Boring. I’ve seen it all before. I’ve seen it so many times that it’s boring. Boring. Boring. Boring.

Thankfully it was only a small part of the episode, but still, can we move away from this and introduce some kind of — I don’t know — oringinality to storylines?

Point 1: I’m sick to death of seeing Male Nutter killing helpless female under gruesome circumstances. It’s — again — boring. It was interesting in the early 90′s with X-Files. But let’s be honest, even then it did get a bit bloody repetitive.

Also, I think the honking great 3d statements on-screen telling you where you are is a bit OTT (that’s Over The Top).

I think the series has a lot of potential. I think it’s also treading old, old ground. And there’s nothing wrong with tilling the earth and planting some new seeds. I just want to see it done a bit differently. Please.

I don’t know what the hell’s happening to me at the moment.

After a raging cold on Sunday — presumably caused by riding home in the rain in black jeans (although the colour doesn’t really matter, I just thought I’d point it out because if the weren’t black before, they sure as hell were after the rain came down) — with a whole river of nasal secretions…

… I find myself very energetic, very up… perhaps even verging on the manic.

Not sure what’s caused this.

Potentially though, it’s that I’ve finally disengaged from the “external reinforcement of my own value as a human being” behaviour (otherwise known as Lisa 4.5 and earlier; also as “bloody silly”, “irritating” and “depressing on a personal level”), as evidenced by my first rejection as a copywriter.

I wrote some well crafted prose for a client yesterday. And they didn’t like it.

What makes this even more interesting is that not only didn’t they like it, I read the response (on the god-phone) just before lights-out in bed.

Usually I would brood on this for freaking hours. Not so this time. I went straight to sleep. No issues. No hassles. Just dreamy sleep.

Course — as a slight related tangent to this line of reasoning — I woke at 4am and couldn’t get to to sleep, so I wrote in the diary and worked out what I was going to buy at IKEA this week (no, don’t laugh at me. Really. Their stuff tends to be quite good. Yes, I know as a tree-hugging hippy I’m risking expulsion from the union of allied huggers because of the potential labour issues in the various countries that make IKEA goods… although i’ve never heard of them being cited for anything nasty… unlike Apple who have been done for pollution issues on old macs and labour issues on the iPod…

Hell where was I?)

Oh yes!

I even got up at 6.30.

Now, to be sure, many people get up at 6.30. Some of them even do it voluntarily. Most do it because they’ve got to get to work and the only way they’ll even get within coo-ee of a spot in a train or tram is to get there before anyone else gets on the tram or train. Course the net effect of everyone trying to beat everyone else to the tram or train is that they get filled up earlier and earlier.

A great argument for driving to work and more freeways and the invasion of countries with or next-door-to petroleum producing countries.

Anyway… I usually am not up before about 8am. As a freelance web designer I’m allowed to do this because I’m my own boss. And as my own boss I’m reasonable about working hours and hold the belief that as long as the job gets done when the client needs it, I don’t care if I work in bed (as I did yesterday writing the copy for the client… see, and you thought I’d forgotten about that!) in my pyjamas and don’t turn up at the place of work until after midday. Who cares, says the boss. The work gets done and I don’t care how you do it.

The boss is a kind-of don’t ask questions as long as the cash flows in our direction kinda gal.

So, I was up early and breathed in the sweet unpolluted smell of my courtyard. The sun had risen and the air was sweet with potential.

And it wasn’t raining either, which is always a good reason to walk out in your courtyard in your pyjamas.

Odd name “pyjama”. Wonder what the entymology is.

Anyway… so I’m feeling good. Meeting with the client to take a full brief on his biz and what he’s really after on Friday, getting a new bed on Saturday and spending my tax money at IKEA… a good redistribution of wealth if you ask me.

Onward and upward as I am prone to saying.

More Skype conversations in the dead-bits:

Moreover.

Moreover what?

What?

Sorry, never mind.

No, really. What were you saying that for?

Well, it was a word that just popped into my head.

Yes?

And, well, I just had to put it into the conversation.

Ah.

Yes, I do that sometimes. Pepper.

Pepper?

yes.

Okay, I think I understand now.

Do you?

Yes… you just did it again. Dropped a word into the coversation.

You noticed! That’s really nice of you.

Well it was a bit hard not to.

Really?

Yes… Well, Pepper isn’t a word I use in everyday conversation.

You just did.

Sorry?

You just said Pepper in a conversation.

Yes, I know. I was repeating what you said.

Really?

Good grief. Yes. You said Pepper and it was one of those words that you drop into conversation.

… really?

Yes. You said Pepper. Earlier you said Moreover.

Moreover what?

That’s what I asked you.

And what was my answer?

You said you dropped it– oh for god’s sake!

What did I say?

Moreover!

I am constantly gobsmacked at how hard some “professional” applications make things.

Take for example something as obvious as a shape with a dotted line.

I want to make some buttons for a website. Ordinarily I’d just create a shape in something like Keynote or Powerpoint with the appropriate line, cut and paste into something like Seashore and cut the bits I need. No it’s not the “ideal” way to do this, but it consistently works and takes me ten minutes, tops.

But I’ve recently become a Photoshop person. I like the layers, which PS will do. But try getting a dotted line on a shape. Really.

Finally after hours and hours of searching, I found how to do it here.

Surely they can make something like this simpler? Or is this the now standard “exclusive” approach rather than “inclusive”? After all, we can’t have just *anyone* doing graphic design can we? There’s lines of demarcation to worry about.