September 11th, 2006

good mris pic

Monday morning

papersky says: On the anniversary of September 11th I like to affirm the excellence of Western Civilization, create something, and celebrate the excellence of the internet as a way of reaching friends.

This is good. Yes. I can do this. This morning it's looking a lot like Louis Armstrong, banana bread, and livejournal posts. This afternoon probably a different set. But it's a good bit of mindfulness, and I appreciate it.

Yesterday I went out to Ren Fest with dd_b and pameladean and lydy. It was cool and damp for awhile, then chilly and rainy and muddy. This is how Fest goes: either beastly hot and dusty or chilly and damp. I go expecting that, and then I have a good time regardless of weather. Yesterday was no exception. We didn't get to see most of the people we were going to look for before we had to haul our bedraggled selves home, but on the other hand, nobody had an absolutely fixed agenda, so it was no big deal to throw in the towel when the mud looked to overwhelm us. Good time had by all -- oh, and we saw a mythical beast: a bagpipe and drum band that played quietly.
good mris pic

First lines and tunes

There is a practice, among several members of my friendslist, of listing first lines of works in progress -- sometimes for their friends' enjoyment, sometimes as a motivating factor. I always think, "Oh, I should do that, and then people will pet me and I will feel all happy and motivated too." But every time I try, I get lost in what there actually is to write and end up writing a hundred words each on a dozen stories I hadn't intended to give any attention at all. "No one went to the Jovian moons to forget," for example, to pick the first line of the alphabetically last work in the alphabetically last folder of my unfinished fiction. It is not time for me to write about the Jovian moons and memory and forgiveness. No. It is especially not time for me to write a hundred words about the Jovian moons, memory, and forgiveness, then go on to the next thing and write a hundred words about shared online worlds and historical accuracy and the folk process, and so on.

Tempting, though.

Sars at Tomato Nation got me wanting to hear Paul Simon's "American Tune," which is not one of our standards around here. It's on now. It''s not complicated, but it's not complicated in the way that's simple, not the way that's simplistic. I've been trying to think what to say about it, and somewhere along the line I started thinking that maybe all the metaphors for our homelands as our parents are the wrong end of the story. Maybe if we thought of our homelands as our children some of the time, we'd focus more on preparing them for an uncertain future and giving them the tools to do well and to do good.

Or maybe I should stop trying to put words on things like that directly and go write some more apparently unrelated fiction. These things have been known to happen.