Eugene

Great Uncle Eugene passed away yesterday. He will be sorely missed by everyone that knew him.

As I was thinking over the last several years I discovered that each moment I spent with him was precious. There wasn't any time that being with him didn't mean something.

I could write thousands upon thousands of words but there's nothing I could say that would help you know Eugene in the way I did, so I'll keep it simple.

Eugene was good and kind and generous. He was forever smiling and only saw the potential in people. Time spent with Eugene was time spent learning a little bit more about who I hoped to be one day.

Goodbye, Eugene. I will love you forever and always.

July 2007

On Creativity

I recently read Matched, by Ally Condie. It's been popular since it was first published. It's a dystopian novel that takes place, interestingly, in the not too distant future. The government is called simply the Society, with "officials" in positions of rank.

What I found most interesting about this particular dystopian society (fiction has presented us with many possibilities as to how a dystopian society could take shape) is the notion of the 100 best. In the beginning, when the Society was being formed, it was decided that there was too much in the world. It was impossible to focus on or appreciate anything. The Society, being the fabulous problem solvers that they are, formed committees that were tasked with selecting the 100 best. Everything else was destroyed.

(I can't imagine how devastating being selected to work on that committee would be. To be selected for such a task would require that you have an intimate knowledge of the are and all its best works. To select some over others? My heart would break.)

The Society gave the people full access to  the 100 best songs, the 100 best poems, the 100 best paintings. But there was nothing more beyond that.


Creativity is not a part of the Society. They already have the 100 best. Nothing more that is going to be created could ever be better than what they have. Why create?

Nobody in the Society seems to mind. For most of them, the thought of creating something original has never occurred to them. Perhaps it has something to do with the reasoning they have as the Society for why everything was destroyed but the 100 best. Perhaps it has something to do with the people that chose to be part of the Society (did they choose?). To me, it seems unrealistic.

People, all people, are constantly changing and growing. Nothing in the Society allows for this. It is completely stagnant. I don't believe it could really maintain itself at all. People may be easily led, but there are thousands upon thousands that would give everything, even their life, to maintain the right to create. How could such a Society even be established? After it's establishment, it could not maintain itself. Humanity is innovative. People are natural creators.


I was reading another book recently: The Alchemyst (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicolas Flamel), by Michael Scott. This book has been very popular and I enjoyed reading it. Except that I found it mildly disturbing. It took me a few days of ponderous thought after to discover the source of my disturbance.

In writing his book, Mr. Scott pulled on mythology and legends from all over the world. In doing so, he debased humanity and it's ability to create, imagine, and grow.

The two protagonists, twins Sophie and Josh, begin the novel as two normal teenagers but quickly become immersed in the the world of the mythical and legendary. As part of this immersion they learn that various traditions, pieces of knowledge, or even ways of life were not discovered or created by humans but are humanities imperfect attempts at recreating what they saw a higher being do. Creation and innovation is not a trait of humanity but is attributed to the higher beings that once occupied and ruled the earth, similar to how humans do now.

There is one innovation that Mr. Scott attributes solely to the ingenuity of humanity. That is the creation of iron. Iron, as it turns out, is deadly and destructive to the higher beings. Humanity apparently has some ability to create, but that creative ability leads to destruction so poignant even the nearly indestructible greater beings can't stand against it.

The debasing of humanity was neither the overall theme of the book nor, I believe, Mr. Scott's intention. I admire Mr. Scott for pulling the ideas together and making connections where before they weren't any. However, I do not like that Mr. Scott makes humans the pretenders and the destroyers.

I read another book with interesting ideas about creativity. I did not read this book recently, nor am I entirely sure I finished the entire book. I believe I did because I recall being unsatisfied with the story as a whole and the ending specifically.

The book is called Magician: Apprentice and was written by Raymond E. Feist. This book was first published in 1982 and is considered a classic in fantasy. During the course of the novel, the protagonist, Pug, finds himself in a society in which creativity has completely ceased. There are still masters of the arts, but they become masters because they are able to perfectly replicate what has already been done. This society has peaked.

Through means not quite natural, the well-being of this society becomes an inescapable part of Pug's efforts. Because Pug was raised in another society, he is able to see the lack of creativity somewhat objectively. There comes a point in the novel when Pug participates in a gathering of some sort, a meeting of people important to the governing of this society (I don't quite remember; it's been quite some time since I read it).  Pug points to the death of the society. They have ceased to progress. Without progress there is only digression and destruction. The society, in not too much time, will fall apart.

Creativity, according to Mr. Feist, is the essence of humanity, the source of progress, the viability of a society.

This is a take on creativity I appreciate. Miss Condie's dealings with creativity and humanity seem artificial. Mr. Scott's seems unthought (I hope) and debasing. Mr. Feist's seems far more true to the relationship between humanity and creativity.

I feel like now I should present you with some great moral on creativity. I don't have one. What I do have is months of thought on creativity and my own relationship to it. Most of the thoughts are too unformed to share but there is one that stands out.

I am creative.

And guess what? You are, too.

Priorities

I find this inspiring.

To think of finding something you love so much when you're that young and to spend the rest of forever doing it. That seems perfectly unattainable to me.

I wrote out a list of my priorities a few days ago. I find it almost embarrassing how clarifying this simple exercise was.

Totally doable, right? Focus. That's all I need.

I believe in myself. I believe in my ability use my time wisely so that I can be happy with what I choose to become.

This is happening.

In the spirit of focusing on my priorities and spending time doing what is important to me, I met dear friend M.C. at OPL for the first night of Orem Writes. It was a fiction panel with Stephen Tuttle, Anita Stansfield, and Dean Hughes. (You can read her account of the evening here.) I wasn't sure I wanted to go to this panel because of the participants. My style and subject matter is vastly different than Mrs. Stansfield's, though I admire both her productivity, her ability to find a unique niche that went perfectly with her writing, and her confidence. While I admire Dean Hughes as a writer, his style and approach to writing seemed to be different than my own. Though the name Stephen Tuttle sounded familiar, I wasn't sure who he was or what he wrote (though after seeing him and hearing him, I swear I know him from somewhere).

Though I wasn't sure about the value of such an evening with these participants, it seemed silly to miss this opportunity when just a few days before I had promised myself that writing was going to be a priority. Also, how similar my writing is to theirs does have any bearing on how much I could learn from them. So off I went to the library with my writing notebook and pen in hand.

It was stupendous. Truly. I'm so glad I went. Here are some of the things that I found particularly inspiring or meaningful:

Inspiration for a story can come from anywhere, including other fiction. It begins with a character or a situation or maybe an event. The story comes as you explore what came before and what comes after.

Mrs. Stansfield related writing a story to an iceberg. As an author, it's important that you know the whole story, that you are aware of the entire iceberg, both the stuff above the water and the stuff below. The reader only needs the tip, but you as the writer must know the rest of it. (That whole tip of the iceberg above water with most of it below seems to make it a great metaphor for a lot of things.) Mr. Tuttle said something similar in that when he writes, he often gets rid of the first few paragraphs or pages, and the last few. It's the middle part that is important for the reader.

To make writing a part of your life, you have to make it a priority. As Mr. Tuttle said, there are always reasons not to write. You need to find your reason for writing and stick to it. Mrs. Stansfield said this may mean that your house is not clean and your floors are not vacuumed, but your writing will get done.

Mr. Hughes decided to write to sell books. Part of him wishes he had the opportunity to do more exploratory writing, writing that he would enjoy but that my not be the type of writing he could making a living from. I still haven't answered the question of what kind of writer I would like to be.

You need to choose who you listen to. Mr. Tuttle talked about the More Dragons, No Dragons dilemma. When you ask others for their opinion, some people will tell you to add more dragons; others will tell you to get rid of them all together. You also need to be open to criticism. Study the criticism, study your writing, and find out what is true for you.

Last night there was a poetry panel. I love poetry though I am a terrible poet. I had intended to go (despite opportunities to do other things last night--good thing I have that handy, dandy card of priorities to keep me focused), but I didn't feel well. I took some drugs and climbed into to bed thinking that if the drugs starting working I could maybe catch the last half or so of the panel.

I didn't wake up until 5:00am. It was super disorienting. My blinds were open and the world was dark and I had no idea why I was in bed in my clothes or what I should be getting ready for.

Is it . . . Tuesday . . . ?

Is it . . . Sunday?

Not my best moment.

Expanding My Cute Horizons

There is an art to creating outfits. I don't create outfits, artfully or otherwise.

For me, getting dressed in the morning is a simple matter of problem solving. There are pieces of me that need to be covered; I have pieces of clothing to cover me. Most of my clothes are either tops or bottoms. I tend to think of myself in the same way.


To get dressed, I stand in front of my closet (where both my tops and bottoms reside) and pick different pieces of clothing that fill my need to be clothed. I don't have "outfits." I don't always wear the same piece of clothing with the same other piece of clothing. Instead, I see a need for a particular piece of clothing (e.g., I need something on top) and pick a piece of clothing that fulfills that need (e.g., here's a shirt).
Mostly this works fine. Occasionally I put myself together in the perfect way. Other times, it doesn't work well at all.

Today was one of those days, one of the days when it didn't work out so well. I left the house knowing what I put together probably didn't belong together. You know, one of those days when a peek in the mirror results in you saying to yourself, "Oh, honey, today is just not your day."

It happens. Particularly when you don't plan outfits but problem solve needing clothes in various places. Obviously, I'm not bothered by it enough to learn the art of putting together outfits (an art the Little Sister excels at and which she tries quite often to teach to me).

The feeling of non-cuteness that left the house with me was helped along by my bare legs. Today is the first day in months that I haven't worn boots with my skirt. The lower half of my legs are fully exposed. Full lower leg exposure is always awkward for me the first few times of the new warm season.

Today I was wrong about my non-cuteness. I came into work and people couldn't get over how cute I was. Who knew? I sure didn't. And that's maybe the best part of not putting together outfits. I wear things in previously unknown and unappreciated adorable ways.

Once Upon a Time

I was a pianist. A real pianist. I was serious about it. I was going to play piano to audiences around the globe.

That was a long time ago and I haven't spent much time with my piano in the past decade or so. Funny how our dreams change, huh?

I turned on the radio the other day to spur me on to greater academic progress and my last concerto came on. It was the beginning, the orchestral part before the piano comes in, but I recognized it right away. It was the first movement of Chopin's second piano concerto. I learned it when I was 15. It was the last serious piece I played.

I have included a video of it here, for your viewing and listening pleasure. There's nothing better than watching a pianist's crazy hands!

Warning: The orchestral introduction is a bit long, but just be patient. The piano starts at about minute 3:00.

This is only the first half of the first movement. The second half is just as fantastic and was even more fun to play.

Can I just say that I am seriously jealous of his massive man hands?

It's a well-known fact that winter my favorite season. Okay, it might not be well-known, but if you ever care to have a conversation about winter I will defend it quite vehemently. I think winter gets a bad rap. There's something so cozy and snug about winter. It's easier for me to know where I stand in winter.

Fall and spring are right up there with winter. Definitely not my fave, but I love them bunches. I think it has something to do with the transitory nature of these seasons. I'm addicted to change, to movement, to progress. Spring and fall are promises of something more to come. They move you from one place to another.

Summer is by far my least favorite it season. It just doesn't compare to the others. Even so, I love summer fiercely.

Yesterday was the first really spectacularly sunny day of the year. I slipped out of work in the middle of the day and walked around my building a few times. Not much of a view, but I wasn't looking for one. I was concentrating instead on the feel, the sun and the wind and the slight crispness in the spring air.

Where winter is snug and cozy, summer is fancy-free and adventurous. Summer is a time for becoming; winter is a time for being.

This, of course, is a completely false perception. I become during the winter and I be during the summer just as much as the other way. But that's how it feels to me. That's how I mark my time.

And my life seems to be somewhat consistent with those feelings. There's no question that I have adventures in the snug winter months, but mostly I don't. Come spring and summer time, there's no end to them.

These are the adventures currently on my docket (in no particular order):

• Lightening-fast trip to Portland
• Month of May Skirt Fest
• At least a couple of 5ks (and I hope at least one 10k)
• Trip to Iowa
• Ingrid Michaelson
• Beginning of Summer trip to Vegas with my ma and my little sis
• Trip to VA to visit it my big sis and her fam
• Shakespeare festival in Cedar City
• Aladdin at the Tuacahn
• Catalina Island hiking adventure
• Party week in Park City
• Fun.
• Weekend in beautiful Grace

Yup, all that is happening.

The crazy thing is, this is just the beginning. I consider my summer plans to be rather formless. I haven't much considered this summer. It's been too cold and wintry. But summer is coming, and quickly.

I need to take some serious thought to figure out what exactly it is I want to do with myself this summer. Then, perhaps, I can present a real list of what my summer is going to be.

Though now that I'm taking a second or two to think about it, I rather think my summer is going to match my non-resolution from the beginning of the year. Take time and its adventures as they come. Live this summer for me.

This is my new best friend.

Except without the straw and the lid. But he sits in my cup holder just like that. We go everywhere together. My mother affectionately refers to him as my super big barf. We're basically a match made in heaven.

I'm considering acquiring a double of him so I can keep him on my desk at work. I don't know that a double would be quite as useful though. It's when I get myself, food, and motion all mixed up together that my super big barf has the best chance of fulfilling his purpose. However, there have been some close calls that have had nothing to do with motion, so perhaps a double would be useful after all.

Unfortunately for him, I'm currently working on a plan to make him completely unnecessary in my life. Not because I don't love him, but because I don't love the constant nausea.

My first plan was to just stop eating. I don't know how long I could realistically maintain that. Even if I managed to maintain it effectively, food (which I've come to find out is vicious and vindictive) would win in the end since food would continue being and I would not.

Instead I'm seriously restricting my diet. Yogurt and berries and bananas and white toast and juice. I had some white rice and chicken gravy last night. That seemed to sit okay. The itsy bitsy slice of homemade pizza with piles of delicious vegetables? Not so much.

Also, I'd really, really like to avoid seeing the doctor. I don't have anything against doctors in theory, but I like to keep my life and their practice as separate as possible.

Good news is, I ought to be nice and skinny come Kelly's wedding.

Image found here.