And a happy Canada Day, while it lasts.
If you'd asked me this morning what month it is, even though I know it's July, I might have answered February. Or March. Summer rain still doesn't seem right, or real - summer should be dry and hot, not wet and humid and warm. It doesn't make sense otherwise.
As to what I've been up to, apart from seasonal confusion:
- writing. This is where most of my energy goes during the evenings, and a lot of the days as well. I'm within spitting distance of finishing my current WIP, and maybe another two or three weeks, by the end of the summer at the latest, will finally see the end of the first rough draft. I'm trying not to think about what more it's going to take apart from which scenes have to be written, which order the words and events should take place. Basically, I'm at a point where I'm trying not to stop until I get there. Trust me, you'll know when I get there.
- going to the movies. The last three things I've seen in the theater were Mud, Man of Steel, and Frances Ha. Enjoying Man of Steel was made easier because I'd won a free pass and didn't have to pay for it. Mud made me want to write a story like that, a sort of small-scale adventure - the kind that doesn't need spaceships or zombies, but has real risks and dangers and rewards just the same. And Frances Ha was one of the best movies I've seen within a theater or without in months. I have no idea if it's playing outside of big cities like New York and San Francisco, which is a pity and a shame. It's a very honest and forgiving portrait of the title character, told with a lot of precision and grace. The phrase I used to describe it to a couple of people milling outside the theater when my showing ended was "a controlled fall," and I still think that works. We talked for a little while, of those tiny pockets of conversation that don't happen often enough - I told them how I wanted to see a movie about a woman, we both talked about Baumbach's other movies and how Jesse Eisenberg got onto the map. And they went to see it on my recommendation, and I don't doubt they had a really great time.
- on June 15, my dad and I went up to an offshoot of Columbia University to see the cicadas and hike down to the Hudson. It's less than an hour from Manhattan by car. We saw the cicadas, all right. And lots of other insects, a groundhog that scurried away as best it could, a rabbit unbothered enough by us to flop down into the dirt for a rest, and the biggest rat snake I've ever come across in the wild. I screamed out loud when I saw it across the path - in delight, because that's who I am. Big and black and handsome, and slithering towards the underbrush for some cover, because snakes are a bashful lot.
- talking someone down from a public meltdown. Two weeks ago my extended family went out for dinner, and with my cousin and her family nearby, they came too. Her daughter's maybe five or six, as energetic as just about everyone is at that age. She was overtired by dinnertime, in a big, cramped, crowded restaurant, looking for attention and something to do, and then she got snapped at by her dad. Her mother told her not to cry, which didn't help. I knew nobody was talking to her in words she needed to hear, copied the parenting I've gotten from my dad and seen from![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thefourthvine, and started talking to her. Just to her.
I told her to look at me, just look at me, and made sure she was listening to me. I told her that it was all right, that her father wasn't angry with her, and didn't mean to hurt her feelings. That he snapped at her because she jostled the table, because of that one thing she did, not because of anything else. I told her why he'd snapped, because he was afraid things would fall off or spill. That he didn't want to hurt her feelings, that he was also kind of tired and stressed, and it was all right. I told her he was sorry for snapping at her, and that he didn't mean to upset her. I asked her if she wanted to cry, and she nodded, and I said that was fine. It was okay she wanted to cry. I asked her to take a deep breath, and have some water, and she did. I was prepared to go on for another ten minutes of that, but then the food arrived, and she was all right.
I don't want to be a parent, I really don't. I like being alone too much. But I wouldn't mind spending more time with young children like that, I don't think.
As to what I've been up to, apart from seasonal confusion:
- writing. This is where most of my energy goes during the evenings, and a lot of the days as well. I'm within spitting distance of finishing my current WIP, and maybe another two or three weeks, by the end of the summer at the latest, will finally see the end of the first rough draft. I'm trying not to think about what more it's going to take apart from which scenes have to be written, which order the words and events should take place. Basically, I'm at a point where I'm trying not to stop until I get there. Trust me, you'll know when I get there.
- going to the movies. The last three things I've seen in the theater were Mud, Man of Steel, and Frances Ha. Enjoying Man of Steel was made easier because I'd won a free pass and didn't have to pay for it. Mud made me want to write a story like that, a sort of small-scale adventure - the kind that doesn't need spaceships or zombies, but has real risks and dangers and rewards just the same. And Frances Ha was one of the best movies I've seen within a theater or without in months. I have no idea if it's playing outside of big cities like New York and San Francisco, which is a pity and a shame. It's a very honest and forgiving portrait of the title character, told with a lot of precision and grace. The phrase I used to describe it to a couple of people milling outside the theater when my showing ended was "a controlled fall," and I still think that works. We talked for a little while, of those tiny pockets of conversation that don't happen often enough - I told them how I wanted to see a movie about a woman, we both talked about Baumbach's other movies and how Jesse Eisenberg got onto the map. And they went to see it on my recommendation, and I don't doubt they had a really great time.
- on June 15, my dad and I went up to an offshoot of Columbia University to see the cicadas and hike down to the Hudson. It's less than an hour from Manhattan by car. We saw the cicadas, all right. And lots of other insects, a groundhog that scurried away as best it could, a rabbit unbothered enough by us to flop down into the dirt for a rest, and the biggest rat snake I've ever come across in the wild. I screamed out loud when I saw it across the path - in delight, because that's who I am. Big and black and handsome, and slithering towards the underbrush for some cover, because snakes are a bashful lot.
- talking someone down from a public meltdown. Two weeks ago my extended family went out for dinner, and with my cousin and her family nearby, they came too. Her daughter's maybe five or six, as energetic as just about everyone is at that age. She was overtired by dinnertime, in a big, cramped, crowded restaurant, looking for attention and something to do, and then she got snapped at by her dad. Her mother told her not to cry, which didn't help. I knew nobody was talking to her in words she needed to hear, copied the parenting I've gotten from my dad and seen from
thefourthvine, and started talking to her. Just to her.I told her to look at me, just look at me, and made sure she was listening to me. I told her that it was all right, that her father wasn't angry with her, and didn't mean to hurt her feelings. That he snapped at her because she jostled the table, because of that one thing she did, not because of anything else. I told her why he'd snapped, because he was afraid things would fall off or spill. That he didn't want to hurt her feelings, that he was also kind of tired and stressed, and it was all right. I told her he was sorry for snapping at her, and that he didn't mean to upset her. I asked her if she wanted to cry, and she nodded, and I said that was fine. It was okay she wanted to cry. I asked her to take a deep breath, and have some water, and she did. I was prepared to go on for another ten minutes of that, but then the food arrived, and she was all right.
I don't want to be a parent, I really don't. I like being alone too much. But I wouldn't mind spending more time with young children like that, I don't think.