May 15, 2009 § Leave a comment
On sunday I’m going to be in stockholm and talk about blogs, diaries and new vs old media. Being an interaction designer AND writer, I supposedly know this stuff. I really hope I do.
Today is preparation deluxe day, I need to find my thoughts about this and sort them before tomo, since tomo is meet your new job-day for me. The problem is that I now all of the sudden lost my writers block that I had for a week, and have started to finish up the last pages of the novel. Not that it’s finished, after that it’ll be at least two months of re-writing before I know if it’s good enough.
I thought about sending in some poetry in the meantime, just to sort of steal my own attention away from the whole scary and angsty business of actually finishing a novel.
I’ll try to write some stuff here about the seminar/discussion later, it’s just that I need to do it in the dear mother tounge. I can’t promise I can be bothered with translating.
May 14, 2009 § Leave a comment
The therapeutic writing processis one of the more complex ones to handle as a writer/teacher yourself. I at least find it very hard to critisize something that so obviously is part of a mental process necessary for the artist to grow as a person, even if the result is completely uninteresting from an artistic point of view.
Some claim all art, and at least all interesting art, is made in some sence for therapeutic reasons, and I’m quite ready to hum and nod and say “yeah, probably” at that, but there is a difference between making it obviously so and being human. So you have childhood traumas? Go to a psychologist. Get a dog. But don’t write about it, don’t paint it and don’t make installations about it, every other second. It isn’t that interesting. If you aren’t going to do it in a new, innovative and fantastic way, or for that, have a lovely intellectualized reason behind it, stop pushing your bad memories down my throat. It really isn’t that exiting to see it over and over again, done in the same way.
This flaunting of the self seems unavoidable nowadays, I do it too, so I really shouldn’t say anything. It seems to me that the discrepancy between market and people is pushing forward this voyerism-driven type of art, that while we crave more person and less company behind things we see, we also do it because we like to look at other peoples misery, it makes us feel better.
Also, not to forget. We like it because it’s simple art. It’s easy to understand. Doesn’t demand anything of us, but still feels more legitimate then just landscapes. It makes us feel, in the same way as hollywood productions does, but with the plus side of giving us a better self image, oh, how arty we are.
Suddenly we again despise things that demand something from us, because that demand highers the risk of failure, and the failure of many gives us an elite. And it is important in a society where the market is stearing everything, that the people feel like even the elite are as dumb and fooled as they are. An elite that diets, cheats and show breasts on tv is an ok elite, an elite with high up jobs that play golf and never read books are ok. But the intellectual elite is dangerous for the self image, since they understand just a tiny bit more than the others.
So suddenly we are standing with a whole generation och plump therapeutic art, and things like ugly vandalism, photographed in an ugly way, to keep it “real”. Everybody is siding with the people, and therefore also creating a community with nothing intellectual to strive for, ending up siding with the big global corporates.
.. and then we all die. More or less.
March 16, 2009 § 1 Comment
The crisis is showing patterns lurking in the shadows
Are we more angry with female bosses than male? It seems like it. People get more upset when a woman is a greedy bastard than when a man is it. Why?
“Sure, you can have equality, but curse you if you turn out to be swines”
Why do people clinge to the idea of the pure and innocent female with superior morals? We all know it isn’t so.
Also, the sudden upswing in old time morals, housewife-ideals, scares me. Last year I breefly dated a guy who asked me “but how will you ever be a good housewife?” because my apartment was in such a mess. I just laughed. I didn’t even understand the question properly, but answered that “hey, why do you think I went to university?”, impliying that I was going to have someone else do that for me, or a husband who cleaned the house, or something. Not until a couple of days later did I understand that he actually meant a stay at home housewife. In this day and age? Is it even an alternative? But it is, again. It’s coming back.
Obama: blame the black guy?
US has a fairly black president. Also, their economy is going poo-shaped. I see a correlation here that is quite ugly. It will be oh so convienient for the US to fall apart while being able to blame the black guy. I think it feels safer, then if they would have to blame a white man, since in heart and soul, many of the US people still consider white americans to be the real americans. Just like we in Sweden consider white people to be the real swedes, even though we have people who are non-scandies that have lived here for three generations.
Did the US need someone to blame?
A mere reading
I read a text about slow reading yesterday and wrote a shorter essay about it. I need to practice that more. To find that way into the text that makes the passive reading into active reflection. Reading is one of the most important parts of writing.
Is there any one who knows how to use the word Hibakusha/hibakusi? I need it for the text. I found a working metaphore now and finaly left the otters behind in the waters where they belong.
I’m applying for a job up in Umeå now, to see if I can spend the summer there. I’ll take a writers class, and hang out up north, write, work and play for the summer. It would be so perfect. I really do hope it works. I feel like I desperatly need to get away to keep my process going. I’m painting myself into a corner a bit right now. And honestly, there is nothing here for me anyway. It feels like I’m breaking up with my city.
March 14, 2009 § Leave a comment
I’m listening to Guy Mitchell (hand claps!) and am trying to make concious grown up decitions instead of going mad with all energy I have. You see, I’m ill, so I’m not allowed to use it. My ears and my throat hurts like a minor hell. For some reasons that’s it though.
I normally end up seeing everything in a yellow tint and singin’ lullabies to myself when I’m ill, from all the high fever. I lie down in my bed, sweaty and panicky, with pains and ackes. I’m lost for the world.
This time? No, just some pain and a nudging load of energy that is conspiring to make me go outside and make me seriously ill instead of being a good girl and staying indoors.
I handed in 122 A4 pages of text yesterday. One of the scariest days of my life, bar sitting in the ER in Australia waiting for tests… Or being in that motorboat in full storm in Fiji. Oh well, kind of scary anyway.
So much text! Have I written all of that? The moment I handed it in I felt like sending out a message going “oh, and by the way, don’t worry, it sucks, I know”. I wonder how I’d ever survive publishing a text. I know we talk a lot about reading deep enough to find the heart of the text, and find the “good” of that text (the terms good/bad aren’t really appliable when it comes to texts in that way). That there is always a way in, a key. There is no bad texts.
But of all those texts, most of them still aren’t good enough to even pass the mail-room at a publishing firm. 99.7% will never get published. I’d like to pass that needle eye, but my camel is a bit complicated. Everything would be easier if I wrote ordinary prose, but I complicate it all with writing surrealistic, fragmentated and contemporary half-erotica (they claim, but it seems like one sex-scene made it erotica if the main character didn’t feel bad afterwards). It’s a complicated camel. It’s a round needle eye, and my camel is a hypercube. I have to write pretty damn good to get it through there.
Oh well. The text is in and I’ve finally lost my writers block.
Now, all I need is finding my cellphone that I also lost, but in less of a metaphorical sense.
March 3, 2009 § 2 Comments
Lolspeak is at this point seen as an internet dialect (I say sociolect, but I’m a besserwisser), not only a meme, now adays. It’s been around for three years and it still doesn’t feel too old. Only risk is that in ten years we’ll look back at these memes and find them too nerdy to laugh about.
I find it utterly fascinating how internet changes our social behaviors, humour being one of the most fundamental cornerstones of human interaction. Humour is how we connect. And right now, we connect with the help of memes from youtube and 4chan, or pictures of cute animals. I’ve myself spent hours on the phone with friends while both just flipping through cuteoverload (yeah, we didn’t have skype anyone of us.. embarrasing I know. Phone, who uses that? Ok, it was a cellphone, but still. A phone, that’s what you use in lack of intertubes.), making small giggle-noices and oohs’n’aaahs’. Before that it was … well. What was it? Anyone remember what we laughed at before we got swooped up in this tragic mushup of internet?
However, this complicates things, for people like me who writes. I can’t include memes in my fictional writing, because by the time I get it published, it’s gone and judged as pointless. It’s impossible to know on beforehand what memes will be made to icons and what will be thrown away in the next springcleaning of the servers.
XKCD did a piece on memes today (which is funny, cause he is sort of part of the meme thing.)
February 5, 2009 § 1 Comment
Yesterday I went downtown twice, I think that’s some kind of record.
First I went down to meet up with queen Mary and another friend to go to a cellar market to buy cheap make up that’s been pipelined from poland. Interesting experience even though I didn’t buy anything, at least now I know where to find my lotions for about half price. Had a cuppa afterwards at Red Dog and talked girlie. (You know, dissing every man within the same area code and discussing sex way too detailed for the rest of the café to be comfortable. Girlie.)
When I got home my beloved Ratatosk had called me twice, looking for support, so I called her up and got her to come over. We stayed here for a while, listening to Abba (when you feel like shyte, you should always listen to strange and dysfunctional music. This monday when Cherrybeat was over, we listened to richie spice. Na na na naaa na naaaa… And yeah, renamed one of my dates to the more suitable name of Na na na naaa na naaaaa. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a convo going about someone whose name you have to sing?) and talking about life, aided by Jeanette Winterson and my favourite passage of Gut symmetries. I love that book. I love that passage. “Walk with me. Hand in hand through the nightmare of narrative”. Very nerdy of us, but still, it was really nice.
Next time I went downtown I did it to hang out with Gary and Anders and watch the footie. I’ll say that again: watch footie. Yes. I watched Everton vs Liverpool in a pub. It was… well. It was a lot more fun then I thought it would be. I followed Garys lead and was on Evertons side, they seemed the most sympathetic anyway (the underdog-angle.). But, such a weird thing. Me, watching footie. I am, by nature, against sports. Just like some people are really gay, I really don’t like sports. I write, I don’t need sports.
After the game we went and had a beer at a bar nearby, and then I went home while the others went to debaser. I stayed up for a while, talking to a friend in the US about a short story I sent over the other day. It was just a quick write in first/second person perspective (I and You, I walked down the stairs while you stood there, waiting), but it was fun to try that in english a bit more and to play with the perspective in different scenarios. Plus that it was ages ago I wrote in english. Good practice.
Also it’s always fun to have a new reader. I have a tendency to write to someone. When I’m writing I always have someone in mind. I suppose that’s why I can’t write when I’m in certain moods or places in my life, like after a break up or when I’m in love. It just doesn’t work, I don’t have the energy. I guess I’m doomed to live in a lonely cottage in the outbacks with my fourty cats, doing arts and crafts and writing poems about the ocean for the rest of my life. If human contact now really is so bad for my creativity I mean.
Next week it’s writing week in school again, so I’m not touching my text right now. I’m in the middle of everything, like slowly strolling through a chatarsis of syrup, so I can’t write anyway. I need to get rid of some people first. Clean and make space for story.
I’m going up to Mim and Lis in a couple of weeks, possibly visiting a friend in Borås (my old hometown) first, that’s gonna be good, and also it’s far enough away from the rest of the world for me to relax and just write. I can’t cope with reality when working like this. Two weeks up north is just what I need. Plus that I miss them so much. It’s going to be good to come up there.
January 26, 2009 § 2 Comments
It’s monday morning and in my head I can hear Nico and Velvet Underground sing, even though I’m trying to turn it off. This is the day to start over, not a day for dwelling in nostalgia angst. I finished all my left over work for school last week and it feels good to be free. I spent the weekend marvelling at the fact that I didn’t have to do anything. Such a great feeling.
Two days in Skurup did wonders for my motivation and go get-attitude, which was down on crawl try by now. I still have things that needs to be finished if I’m ever gonna be able to get out of this country, but right now I’m gonna take a week and just take care of myself. You know, Try to back away from panic mode. I’m a bit too close to the famous wall, it’s not so much about not running into it as it is about not repeatedly banging my head to it.
To hear Ida Börjel talk about her latest book was great, mostly because she does a lot of research for her poetry, and I can see my own mind in hers in a way. At least it feels like I can recognize and see myself in the level of nerdiness. It was really inspiring. Just like so many other things. Just to talk to the others about writing, about working with this, about being what is essentially me. That is what I am, a writer. It is how I recognize myself, I write, it’s what I do, how I breath and live.
I gained a lot of energy during those two days, and spring is probably coming soon, so I decided to make some changes, or at least try. I bought a printer (and copymachine, and scanner, it gives me megalomanian fantasies about scanning everything in the whole world muahahaha. etc.) so I can print out the whole manuscript and take a closer look at it. It’s time soon to start to look at problems with the storyline, is it too tangled? Selfcontradicting? So on. I’m going to try, for the hunnert and fourth time in my life, to get som structure.
Also I went on a walk this morning. I’m going to try at least this week, to go for three walks. Just this week first. Small small tiny steps at a time. The only functioning way to change your life.
It never works to say “I’m gonna start working out five times a week, 2 hours every time, and I’m gonna stop eating anything at all except green vegetables!”. If it does work, you should probably visit a psychiatrist and not a gym.
Having made this small changes, like taking a walk, eating a good healthy breakfast, buying a much needed printer, entitles me to do one very ritual thing. I’m buying a new notebook. This is something I always do when I change my life to the better. I buy notebooks, and a new pen. So when I’ve finished writing this, I’m gonna go downtown and buy a notebook and a pen, a design magazine (yeah, I’m pampering myself). And then I’m gonna kick start this week by printing all the 90 pages.
New life, new energy and new hairstyle.