The Captive Water Fae

I was writing to a younger friend who is trying to wrestle inspiration to the ground and get it to spit out a story that is hanging around. We’ve chatted about various issues over the year; amongst them is the on-again, off-again nature of her muse. Myself, I struggled through a ten-year dry spell, and did Julia Cameron’s course twice–lots of good tools there.
But this is what I figured out this morning about getting it jump-started, and I wanted to share:

I was thinking about your story-work this morning earlier and I thought perhaps you might like to take a different tack, one that lets you have more of a dialog with your Self (your muse, if you like).

Start with the thing that your heart goes to right off, the elf & the human together, yes? Then ask questions and wait for a reply (or a picture, which is a reply).

Example (not telling you what should happen, just trying to show what it might feel like):

Your muse: My elf and my human are sitting together in a sunny place.

You: What does it look like?

They’re on a stone bench in front of an old, old building, looking out over the overgrown ruins of high-tech city.

Why is it overgrown and in ruins?

They found it together while looking for something.

What were they looking for?

<muses dodges a bit> The human has a map in his hand.

Were they there because of the map?

Yes…

…and so forth.

It’s like playing interactive fiction with yourself. Just wait on the answers patiently. If the muse dodges, it’s because you’re supposed to follow it and go in a different direction. Eventually, it will get to telling you stories on its own, or showing you movies in your head—and then you have to write fast enough to keep up with them!

If you keep editing before you get the pictures or story out, you’re telling your muse that you don’t like what it’s saying and it will shut up.

If you consciously decide you want to go in a certain direction for…well, an ego reason, say (like wanting to be unique), and that’s not the story it has for you, it will shut up.

You have to trust it to tell you a story and let it have its head. Follow it. It won’t lead you astray, no matter how weird or mundane the stuff that comes out. What comes out is what you need to hear or be doing.

After all, your muse is not different from you. It’s still you, just a part that has learned to be quiet. Unfortunately, you have silenced the gatekeeper to your soul. You have to undo that in order to truly live.

And I gotta say, this is all related to the issues of trying to fit into a mold that isn’t yours, as opposed to seeing what kind of unique creature you really are. You won’t be all that weird or unsociable or unlovable if you let go and grow the way your supposed to. (If you were really *wrong* inside, you’d already be having major psychological problems and breaks—so I’m not worried.) In fact, you might be a little miffed that you’re really pretty normal, sane, and well-adjusted. Be glad for that!

These places, in the telling, take on larger-than-life stature, places where my mother and her sister visited as children during hot summers, now only known through curled and fading black and white photographs of children in pale dresses, with smiling but still sober-looking ladies holding their hands on bungalow steps. Or a picture of my grandfather in his christening dress, from that era. (Yes, little boys in 1903 did wear christening dresses, all the children did.)  I open formal photographer’s pictures in sepia paper folders that smell pleasantly of paper mold, carefully preserving a diva, my great-grandmother, who sang for many, back in the early days of the twentieth century, almost a hundred years ago, whose trust fund is all that I have of her. I never even heard her voice once.

When I am done here, less than nothing of me will go into the future, like writing on water, like last winter’s crumbling leaf, the last passing sigh.

I’m glad this structure in the south still stands for a little while.

The Isbell house on Archiplanet

And it’s fun to see images of paintings I remember being painted! In his basement in Alexandria.

I also remember a yellow sticky of cowboy curses (darn! shucks!) stuck to his big old oak easel. His youngest, Zara, was very small, and those were the nicer versions he was supposed to use instead of the usual variety. And a story about Frank Frazetta, who taught him that whatever paints you use, do not stint on good brushes. Things like that.

He was very kind about my awful first paintings. Bless you, Steve.

Go see his lovely web site: http://www.stephenhickman.com/

Thing is see…I dunno what my perfect is. I dunno what I have to reach to be able to look at what I do and go “Yea I really like that.”

I see perfection in so many other people and things that sometimes i defeat myself before I’ve begun….I just dunno how to break that away from my mind.

I see perfection everywhere…everywhere except from within myself….I’m not really sure why.

>_<

Oh, honey. You *knew* I was gonna see this, didn’t you? *Pats the sweetie pie*

Another poster in the forum said that flaws and imperfections were desirable attributes. Here’s the other thing: This is the sort of quest that turns into a spiritual journey, and you can learn some very interesting things along the way. But if you never start, you’ll never arrive.

There is a Japanese aesthetic that says that something *too* symmetrical, too even, too “perfect” is not perfect. Pretty much, something that *looks* natural is considered perfect–the little flaws are treasured. Unevenness and asymmetry are sought after.

Therefore, every little flower in a meadow is perfectly what it is supposed to be. AND…every little human being on the planet as well—the good, the bad, the suffering, and the happy. You are being exactly what you are supposed to be! Interesting deviations from exactitude are considered desirable!  Anything without those…is imperfect.

Now, finding out and bringing the “what I’m supposed to be” into consciousness and nurturing it, is called living dharmically (I may stretch the definition a bit here) in the yogic teachings.

The only thing you should want to be when you grow up—is yourself! That’s it! Nothing else.

This is why sometimes, after decades (I am over 50) of messing around, stopping, starting, screwing up, procrastinating, and occasionally working hard, when I sometimes find I’ve “nailed it,” by achieving a sought-after balance in a piece of art or design or writing, something that makes me and others pleased to behold it—well, it’s not “perfect.”  It’s just what it should be, no more or less.

I mean, hell, there’s always someone with more technical skill or imagination out there! I think the issue is to take in hand your definitions rather than to randomly going around measuring all sorts of things and people with widely varying backgrounds, skill, desires, and so forth against one standard of…well, what DO you mean by “perfect?”

I know what I like, anyhow: Poise in motion, composition, and execution; freshness in ideation. Artistic realism and naturalism.

Try using words other than perfect to describe what it is that makes the something desirable! You may get some clues that way.

Along the way, I decided that I really, really wanted to be able to see my figments, and took up working with Poser, which I had put down three years ago, having been worn out by working as a merchant in the Poser community, and due also to getting a job after being laid off for 8 months. I was most grateful for the job at Real Magnet in Bethesda, but it was a very intense one and pretty much ate my life, as I was so tired after work that I did nothing creative at all for a long time, except a bit of jewelry-making.

Leaving Real Magnet for Amtrak opened up a lot of head space, apparently. In January of 2007, I believe it was, inspiration finally exploded. This is the deep, dark secret—no longer! I was playing Sims2, and having a blast. This apparently caused the figments to awaken, and some of them walked off the screens of the Sims and became far, far different from their original paper-doll forms, assuming depth, breadth, and their own voices and lives. It was like having a movie running in my head 24/7.

I let it out. It was the best thing I ever did.

And I finished the very first draft of the very first book inside of three months, I believe, about 300 pages (it’s since expanded, necessarily). Each successive one has gone slower and slower. They have not stopped, but it’s reached a steady walking pace that does allow me to do visual as well as verbal art. So, midway through book number four, in August of 2008, I went back to Poser. This time, I had some money, some energy, and the drive to depict. Again, the figments leaped off the screen of my mind an onto the computer screen.

Yesterday I posted my 101st picture on this web site, over in the 3D gallery. I have done more than that, but that’s 101 Dalmatians—I mean, images that are keepers. Now I can see my figments when I want to! And I have met new ones along the way, who are keeping me busy with book five.

I have no idea if I will ever publish the books. I have been published as an illustrator, some minor stuff including a short-lived comic, a book cover, and some gaming materials—so it’s not like I’ve never been there. The books need tidying up and a good editor. My dear AJ Savill has had a major positive impact on the first book, and helped the others mature into better works. Thank you, thank you AJ. Ms. Karen Fox has also taken up the mantle of reader, but as with other volunteers, can only do what the rest of her life permits her to do.

I have, meantime, been quite driven to depict. My dear Kay will attest to this, since I all but chase her away when I’m working. I think the point of this particular bit of autobiography is that for once in my life (a) I let the muse run away with me, (b) I’ve had enough mileage as a designer, painter, and writer (of non-fiction) that I’m no longer as bedevilled by doubts as I was when I was young, and (c) I am persistent. I think the latter is key. It’s not rocket science: you practice anything daily, and you will improve, even if you have no talent for it. (God knows, I learned how to bowl properly, and I have absolutely zero talent for that. ) If you have both talent and a desire to do the whatever-it-is, then practice will improve your work, if you are willing to learn and try even a little bit.

In the Virile Noir thread(s) on the DAZ3D forums, which LT Roberts and I host (more or less), we have had the very special joy of watching others, encouraged and helped, improve significantly in the past eleven months. And we have improved ourselves, as we were just noting the other day. I owe LT a lot, for his friendship and encouragement. Thank you.

So: KEEP TRYING, you artists. I’m watching you.

—Dr. Seuss

Back last summer one of the ConComm wrote and invited me to be a guest—a speak on panels and amuse the attendees sort of thing—probably since I was the Artist GOH in 2000. It took me a while to get my head together on the subject and I did reply in the affirmative in August. Organizational issues not withstanding, Peter (who was doing registration) was gracious enough to let me in as a guest. Kay had to pay her own way, so I bought her lunch both days. The things she’ll do for sushi, honestly.

I got a much warmer reception than I expected, really, given that Kay and I were fairly cheesed off when we withdrew from those groups almost seven years ago. However, the hatchet’s been buried—and not in anyone’s head. The Gaylactic Network folks are decent people. As an organization, it has its flaws, but no more or less than many such. We ain’t none of us perfect. I’m glad that their current Speaker (president) is minded to make some changes, and I wish him luck with it. I just don’t have the time or energy to devote to that again—and Kay and I tried to make changes, too. Hopefully we planted some seeds way back then, and Wayne can make it work now.

Their current webgeek, Andrew, asked me what we could do with their site, and what do you know? The Open Source CMS that I use for the Great American Stations web site (I’m the site producer and webmother) is primarily a community-building tool. Hah. Building a Plone site is no picnic, let me tell you. However, it’s not that awful if you use a lot of the out-of-the-box features. Tweaking the skin really hard, however, as we did at Amtrak, is a trying enterprise. The learning curve can be steep, in that case. Nonetheless, Plone will let you build a really useful object base and let you concoct custom views into it. The Network needs something that will help them create a knowledge base, and special hosting needs aside, this will do the trick.

So, back to the convention. I sat on two panels, “How do you like your women,” and “Erotica in the Genre.” Egad! Smut AND geekification. Can it get any better? I don’t think so. The first panel didn’t do much, since opinion panels are full of…well, opinons. Boring. I sat and looked out upon the four or five women who had wandered in and they gazed back unconcernedly. I whispered to the butch next to me, who whispered back. Bad manners, that. Sorry. We all agree that Amanda Tapping is Hot. So is Gina Torres.

The second panel was quite interesting in that it talked about how mainstream or not erotica had gotten for sci fi/fantasy/horror (in books and media), and the GOH, Geoff Ryman, was fun to listen to. No, not THAT kind of interesting. Many useful writerish tidbits in that discussion. An interesting observation: men having the sort of romantic relationships women write about (especially in slash) IS the fantasy part of the story…which I thought was pretty funny. It made me think that what I’ve written isn’t too far off the mark, in terms of describing believable males.

Geoff also said something along the lines of men’s taste in erotica basically stultifying at age 13. Delicately put, that’s a partner ready to do the deed around every corner. This is interesting in light of people’s comments read on the DAZ3D Commons in a recent debate on the subject of “Have Women Lost Their Femininity,” which provided weeks of entertainment and many fine opportunities for absurdity. There were several gentlemen who allowed that they do say no, from time to time. Or that they just can’t find someone appropriate. In other words, they sounded like adults…but that’s real life, not fiction. No telling what they fantasize about…but of course, a look at their 3D Poser galleries would tell you in an instant.

All in all, things went rather better than expected. I did talk to Alicia Austin at length, as well as Geoff Ryman, and enjoyed both conversations immensely. Alicia’s been in fandom as an illustrator for donkey’s years, and her fine draftsmanship hasn’t wavered in all this time. She’s quite a lovely, down-to-earth person, too. Geoff is droll, witty, and Englishy. Kay got her sushi lunch, we caught up with old friends, and made some new ones. Well done. Thank you, Kay, for kicking my butt and making me go.

OK, two years of that. No creative stuff going on, much, but the people at Real Magnet are and were the best, which made up for a lot of the pressure. Then I moved on to a position at Amtrak as a production designer for the Great American Stations project. Then my mother died…then my grandmother…talk about transitions.

This winter past, the dam that had been keeping me from writing for oh, a couple of decades, finally broke. At this point, I have 3+ books in a series drafted, and nobody is more surprised than I am. The fourth is meandering and having plot issues, so I write on it a little bit at a time, and started back with Poser to depict the characters in the books, whom I call my figments.

The figments share a brain with me, as my figments always have over the years. They wanted to be portrayed, since I can do that pretty handily with Poser and Photoshop. Isn’t that neat? I can “photograph” people who have never existed. So, the 3d gallery at this point is populated with the current crop of figments from the Master of Sorrows trilogy (plus).

I also went back to the DAZ3D forums, and post regularly there again, and have fun being very silly with the excellent people there. They’re a real cut above your usual grotesqueries on the ‘Net. If you’re there, I’m the Nanobot. Of course.

It could be said that I flit from enthusiasm to enthusiasm, but that’s not exactly true. I spiral through them, coming back time after time. I figure that I’m supposed to do a bunch of different things, and well, I like variety, so I switch off. I’m trying, since life is short, to focus better now. Follow-through. Persistence. Words like those.

Instead, I’m trying to make some progress with re-skinning this blog. Must re-skin something. After spending a couple of years with Plone, PHP and WprdPress seem a little crude, though they certainly do the job. Figuring out why the path to the theme’s images directory works in one place but not another…Oy. Same old problems, different CMS.  But it’s getting there. I use two fixed “faux columns” in my site’s layout, this is just a different arrangement of the same thing. I should be able to do this. Mind you, I’d do it faster if I weren’t semi-delirious.

My boss reminded me to annoy Kaiser P. into seeing me today. Alas, yesterday, someone over at Kaiser called someone, not me, and left a message for me. How inconsiderate of those (unknown) people not to pass it along! Maybe Kaiser will actually call me back today and I can spend several hours of waiting with other sick people to get something to cope with this sinus infection from a vastly over-worked physician. For this I pay a lot of money.

Code doesn’t care if I can’t breathe through my nose. Code in da nose? Hah.

My boss, a gracious lady I admire and respect (no, I’m not just sucking up) speaks of techies as not speaking English.  I completely understand that sentiment. Some geeks are not as good at it as others.  That business about “faux columns” for instance: there really are two columns of text on the web page…on the other hand, there are no columns, no text, and no web page, just a lot of little bits of light glowing out at me from this flat panel monitor. It’s consciousness and pattern-matching ability that makes sense of any of it. “This is not a pipe,” as Rene Magritte, would say.  “There is no spoon,” as a fictional character once opined.

Mmph. Back to consciousness, of which I am in short supply.  Now, where did I put that pixel???