Done it

Almost.
I wrote "Redemption Postponed" in two or three days. "Panic in Islington" took, what seems like, that many months. Why!? I can't say it's a better piece of writing. Perhaps I wanted it to be a better piece of writing so badly, that I got  tangled into a proverbial mother of knots. Mother appears again, different sort of mother but not bad. Needs a little more, not another scene, but more development in the ones that she occurs in. No father again, hmm. Main character, Zosia (daring of me to write a female PoV:) is clear in my mind; she needs a bit of tinkering with in the earlier parts, I was writing a slightly different character back then, and never finished editing those parts. Fiat stays as is, minor tweaking perhaps.  Navajo Joe needs another scene to make sense; I deleted a weak scene with him -- never replaced it. Guido and Bolek: a little finessing, but no big alterations. Helga needs a little more. Terry and Jane stay as they are. Blitzie the dog needs a wee bit more description. Slow sections need some better composition here and there. Hard to break into them with additional material, but they could be made stronger. Action bits the same. Too many words, not enough meaning.

I hate to admit this to myself, but I can see the whole thing growing by about another thousand or so words (currently stands at over 15,000),. Still a short story, just takes a long time to spit it out.

Wallgreens, Bernalillo

Wallgreens, Bernalillo
I pull out my list of instructions for a British passport photograph.
"This isn't for an American passport, none of that kind of three quarter view with left ear showing, you know, no hat, turban, bandages, " I remind the man. He looks a little crazed, and doesn't really understand what I mean.
"I'll take care of how my face looks. You know, the grinning, frowning, or raised eyebrow stuff. I'll try to keep my eyes open for as long as it takes and stay neutral, keep my mouth closed, you know, that kind of thing. I'll even take my glasses off. I look weird without them, but I'll do it anyway."
He looks even more confused. Too much input.
"I want it 45 millimeters high by 35 millimeters wide. OK?"
 This he seems to understand, even though the measurements are metric.
"Yes, sir. We can do that."
"My head must be between 29 and 34 millimeters high."
"Er...yeah, OK sir, we'll aim for that."
"You take care of the red eye, get me in focus, make sure you use color film, no shadows on my face please, print it on white paper, you got white paper?"
"Yes sir. We can do white paper."
"Great! We're all set. Where do I sit."
"This way please."
He pulls down a white background blind.
Oh, not white. Plain cream or plain light gray, please."
He looks at me in horror.
"White. It has to be white, sir."
"No. Look here." I pull out my list of instructions. "It says no white. It has to be cream or gray."
"We can't do that. We can only do white."
"Look this is for a British passport. They're different. It has to be cream or gray."
"Sorry sir. We can only do white. We only have white."
"I'll go to another Wall-greens. They'll have other colors, right?"
"No sir. Only white."
"Look. I'll bring you a sheet of craft paper. You sell that stuff here? We'll tape it on the wall, you take the picture, I'm out'ah here, OK?"
"No sir. We can't do that. It's against the rules,"
"Rules?..."
"Its against the Law, sir."
We gazed at one another for a long time. I gave up. He won. More or less the same thing happened in each other store that I went to. I guess I'm going to have to search out a subversive pro, hidden in some dark alley. Some other day.

Breaking away

Since I'm not posting any of my work recently and seem too busy writing on other sites to write here, I'll slip in a piece by my daughter, Lizzie (link to her video documentary under "Links" on right). Done in art room at school.

Process interrupted

Not entirely, but...
I have stopped posting any visual work progress. Happening now, aside from major digressions, are odd bits of employment, theater set painting, travel, and coping with long postponed tasks. It all leaves tiny little mini gaps for a series of furtive, hesitant, tentative explorations on paper, repair and maintenance of older pieces and art materials, and writing. Writing is at a stage where my painting often arrives at. The task has grown to meet to meet the expectations that have arisen from within the the monstrous thing that I am creating. The process has created possibilities that were not included in my original intentions.
The piece that I am writing now has wavered between short story, long short story, novella, and beyond. Each form seems to require different development and structures in its detail, so I have parallel versions of this piece uncomfortably nesting together in one file. Parallel versions, reflections perhaps of how my incarnate being (mal-?) functions. It's a parallel universe arisen, first on a whim, growing like a cancer (:o) in my psyche, interrupting normal drowsy day-dreams, merging with "real" memories, demanding fulfillment, wholeness, and realization. Poor little thing.
I posted possible opening under working title of "Panic in Islington" on the "Further Issues " site.

Dry stuff

On our way to Denver we made what turned out to be a longish stop at a bunch of sand in Southern Colorado. It turned out that only I was in a truly hiking mood, but just being there in the great silence and emptiness was affecting for all of us. Even being way out in a calm sea does not compare to this.

Self portrait: me in the desert:

After an hour or so of trudging though the sand Carol and Lizzie reached their limit of endurance (poor things):


However, Lizzie makes one last effort to follow in my footsteps in a style carefuly developed for this kind of terrain:



























Journey's end:



Time to say goodbye:



Onward:






View from highest point in this area of the dunes, about an hour and a half later:



A snaky form greets me on my return:



Meanwhile, Lizzie unearthed a dragon fallen from the sky:

The Great Sand Dunes in Southern Colorado. Note: we all left our hats in the car. A foolishness.
The bits of white, here and there, represent last bits of fast melting snow. The sand was slightly damp in places, which made for easier travel, but where it was soft and dry (most of it), walking was a seriously aerobic experience.