How to Deal With Interruption

Since yesterday my sinus issue has become a full-blown cold, complete with a streaming nose and fuzzy thinking.

Perfect for a writer hoping for a progress beyond interruption.

I'm giving myself somewhat of a break by lightening my load to carry in my handbag. For two to three nights a week (and one day on weekends when I attended the writing marathons) I would carry two bags or stuff my regular handbag with so much stuff that I would hurt myself. That will end starting today. I'm packing a pocket Moleskine, free-writing instead of expecting great strides (I'm shooting for the big strides at home), and for reading I'm accessing the Kindle app on my phone. When meeting other writers is hard work, then writing socially has to be re-thought and the expectations reset.

I met with my brother yesterday and he asked if I was booked the rest of the week. Cancel my writing groups? This is important to me, so I didn't press it. I know they are free meetings, but they give me access to other writers, instead of imprisoning me with other coworkers.

Passion friends vs. friends via imprisonment.

I'm going to keep working toward that, regardless of the physical struggles.

Morning Pages

Each morning, when I first wake up and before I stuff my face for breakfast, I write three pages longhand, morning pages. The inspiration for it came from a book that a friend gave me last November by Julia Cameron concerning a writer's "diet," but I've read "The Artist's Way" when I first started reading Natalie Goldberg and other writing gurus, so I was already familiar with the concept. (The best explanation that I've found of morning pages can be found here.)

Sometimes, for stretches of days, I feel that the pages are useless. This past week, on vacation, I sort of resented them--they got me up early so that I could have the chance to finish them before family woke up and required my attention. And this morning, my first day back from vacation, I spent longer than usual with them because I wanted to get down to the "real" writing, like my blogs and short stories. Each sentence was torture. I thought, "Do I really need this?"

The thing is, if I don't do these pages, it's an emotional difference, like missing life-sustaining prescription medication in the morning. The first Saturday I was on vacation my brother was up before I could get to pages, so I put them off until the next day. Yesterday I didn't get to them until three o'clock in the afternoon. Both times I got angry--I felt like I had been denied something that was either strongly a part of me or necessary to my psychological well-being.

What is happening with the morning pages when I drag with them is I am self-censoring. I just have to spill them, no matter how crappy they sound or read. And I keep forgetting that. I write so much for the world to read now that I forget to save a little for me.

So we'll try again. Just one more day. :)

Write on.

From the Department of "Well, That Was Dumb"

I'm having one of those mornings where I got off to a weird start. I bought yet another laptop bag yesterday, and in the transfer of writing supplies to take with me to the library I forgot my pouch of back-up pens. I've Tweeted the fact, Facebooked the fact...I'm obsessed. This was supposed to be a writing session.

And it was. Just an on-line one, is all. I'm still working on adaptability issues, obviously. City writer, country writer. :) (Thanks, Robin.)

And for those of you following my bag count...I picked up this little gem at the outlet mall, Kenneth Cole, $17, AND it matches my current handbag. Oh, I'm such a girl.

I'm at the Carlsbad City Library this morning, the Georgina Cole branch, while Serena volunteers at the Senior Center. Yes, I could have volunteered with her. Yes, I was selfish about my writing and chose that instead this week. I'm used to the San Francisco Public Library, which isn't much different from this library at the satellite branches. The two biggest differences are:

• The librarians here are so friendly they greet you coming in, and they invite you to stay and read a while. "It's hot out there; you better stay put," was my instruction on Wednesday. I readily complied and read for two hours that day. (Had plenty of ink and I read the whole time--oh, for God's sake, let it GO already, Jo...) The San Francisco librarians are pleasant, but you have to get in front of them and make yourself known. I suspect that has to do with the second difference, below...
• About 30% of the patrons at the SF Public Library are homeless people, camping in the temperature control with free knowledge. I don't begrudge them that, although it lends an unmistakable aroma to a library in San Francisco that for the most part does an excellent job of keeping me from curling up with a book there. In this library there is just one homeless person, and none that I could find at the main branch over on Dove Lane. The homeless woman here seems disturbed but well-behaved--I imagine she doesn't want to be thrown out in this heat.

I love the Main Branch of the SF Public Library for it's grandeur, but I must say that I love these little libraries for their humanity. Today I had to journey upstairs for a vacant writing table, but Wednesday I got a table right by checkout, and got to talk to children. One little girl who I swear came up to my knee insisted on showing me the correct way to self-checkout (Tina Fey, Jr.), and another little girl passed my table and demanded that she wish me goodbye and that I have a good day. This friendliness seems consistent with much of Carlsbad--Mike and Serena's neighbors invite me over to their units and show me pets and renovations with relish, offer up sunburn cure-alls, and ask if I'm looking for a vacancy down here. They even nod in agreement about my love of San Francisco--"Oh, I understand, hon. Just saying you have a home here if you want it." At the cafe yesterday two people stopped to ask me about the library book I was reading, and if I was reading it for work. STRANGERS. It's like Mayberry meets Surf City.

Well that's enough writing for now...I'm going to finish that book I started on Wednesday and wait to see what the tide will bring.

Write on. :)

Hide and Go Seek

I'm in San Diego this week (well, Carlsbad...I get liberal and start incorporating myself in that San Diego curtain pretty freely), and not writing much. The only writing I get done is my morning pages. I got in four pages of free-writing yesterday, but that's it.

But I'm okay with all of it.

What I am doing down here is a lot of living, or watching the living. I've got the pace almost down, but I don't need to--I just watch and talk to people and listen. Listening is the big thing. I had one hang-up yesterday; our neighbor is high drama and took her high drama on her cell phone down to the hot tub in the courtyard to share with the whole complex. She's the only one I've had to drown out with the iPod. Everyone else I listen to.

Either I'm at peace, or people have better articulation skills down here in Carlsbad. In SF most Muni conversations are peppered with the word "like." I know the scientific study behind that word's abuse but having that knowledge doesn't make the abuse of the word any easier to bear. When I get back the new goal is to leave the iPod off first and see if I can find pockets where, like, you know, like, they don't, like, talk like that.

Next to me at this cafe there are two women talking intelligently about education plans at the local school for the coming fall. At the table on the other side of me is a mundane conversation about what one of the party should have ordered, but, despite the subject matter, it's easy to listen to. Other things pop up to fuel my writing idea pot. On Tuesday night a woman in the complex across the lagoon tried to jump, and was carted off by the paramedics. My sis-in-love called it "Rear Window, Revisited," and asked me what I had to write about since I didn't know the circumstances or the aftermath. I grinned. "See, those are the parts I get to make up," I said with relish. Earlier in the vacation my brother gave me an idea for a modern twist on "The Old Man and the Sea, Revisited." So I could write. But I'll do that when I get back to lonely.

There are inspirational places to write as well. A suggestion made to me didn't pan out because that location has been closed for about a year, but the suggestion got me exploring downtown. I wrote a little in a french bakery, the local libraries (two of them), and the cafe here. I get words down. To paraphrase Picasso, they don't look like me now, but they will. And I'm losing my fear of deserts. Or, I should say, the fear isn't so acute.

This may be my last post until I hit the Bay Area again on Monday. Meantime, write on.

LeatherTramp

Been having some pretty consistant nightmares that smack of the movie "Into the Wild" for the last two weeks, but strangely I was without them in San Diego. My brother and I were quiet together--we ate, we talked about how California is different from what we expected, we talked of disappointments, we studied marine life, and then I told MS of my dreams.

"Hmm," he said, "have you ever read the book? It's different from the movie."

I had told MS not only of my dreams but of the meanings of my dreams that my roommate and I had found on the internet.
Starvation = some emotional void in my life
A large dog that I have dies at the end of the nightmare = I'm about to lose a best friend
Since my brother is my best friend that's way more than frightening.

Still, he played me the soundtrack (Eddie Vedder--GOOD STUFF) to the movie and I started to read the book. It was stunning. There was lots of commentary from others the author had talked to that McCandless was "a nut," "arrogant," "stupid," "incompetent," etc. These were much the same comments I heard concerning the adventurers of the movie/book "Touching the Void." WHY DO YOU DO THAT????

But I understand why Chris did it. I can't put it to words yet, and maybe I'm prejudiced, but bring on the nightmares. I want to fly. If a dog I desperately love but have never met dies every night, then he must. I know why I dream this way.

I too am touching a void. The quest now is to fill it, healthy.

Schlosser SoCal, Over and Out

Tomorrow night I take to the skies for San Diego...nothing like 70 degrees and t-shirts to put you in the holiday mood. ;)

For all my faithful readers out in the cybersphere, HAPPY HAPPY THANKSGIVING and thank you for your readership! I am most grateful for it.

I may Twitter or post some Facebook pics, but if not, see you Sunday.

Eat well, dear reader.

Update For Our Shoppers Here At Smoke

A little update on the environmental front...

And that's what happens when I have a little time, my friends.

Back From the Wild

Discovered that I could live on a kayak and be absolutely happy. Have a sunburn all over my back that has the sillouette of my Speedo.

I miss my brother.

I miss Serena.

I miss a warm ocean.

Okay, back to My Life.

Absence Excuse

Okay, so I was drinkin' and chatting it up with the roommate last night and missed the entry for yesterday, but here's the plan:
Going to the internist and bloodwork and obgyn this morning for the yearly scolding session (someone's going to have bad cholesterol).
Then going to finally eat, come back here and pack, and then go downtown to see my old gang at the store here in the City.
Then heading for the airport.
So here's the part where Twitter takes over for a few days.
Have a good weekend, dear reader.

Gentle Reader...

In lieu of tonight's blog, I am writing a hopefully long and entertaining e-mail to my sis-in-love (as Jenn calls hers) in San Diego. She passed along the news this week that the surgery that was planned for her mother has been cancelled--the cancer is too far gone and mom is suffering with related infections. Serena isn't feeling much like talking and prefers writing, so...

Jo to the rescue!

I'll keep it inspirational, without too much perkiness. What irritated me most about Mom's cancer was "The Chicken Soup For the Soul With Cancer" that everyone insisted I read. Could have used realistic optimism instead.

Sleep well, dear reader.

Measuring Life, aka, Rent Flashback

Brother caught the monster halibut and sis-in-law cut her hair as a gift on Saturday...

Sooooo...

They compared inches.

Trust me on this, size matters. ;)

The Bookstore Narrative: The Journey Continued

In addition to my quest for the ultimate bookstore in San Francisco, or, if I’m brave, the Bay Area, I have found modes of comparison in other markets. I have spoken before about Elliot Bay Book Company at an old counting house in Seattle, but there was one in San Diego as well, called Upstart Crow & Co. I have found bookstores across the miles that draw me, despite or because of all surroundings. Which explains the demise of the tourism of Portzline.

When I proposed the idea of knowing a city by its independent bookstores to my therapist, she suggested that I research the idea to make sure that it hadn’t been done before. I finally got the opportunity to do that research last weekend, and it led me to a book on Amazon.com called “Bookstore Tourism,” by Larry Portzline, a man who had provided tourists in Greenwich Village and Washington, D.C. with tours of the indies of those areas, and he was so fired up that he wanted to start a movement of indie bookstore tourism across the United States. When I went to his website, however, I found that he had bitten off more than he could chew, and was giving up…
http://bookstoretourism.blogspot.com/

Was it because he wanted the world to sing in perfect harmony, instead of just one city? But the draw is so enticing…when I think of Seattle or San Diego and my tome adventures stand out squarely in front of those cities in my mind like a Hollywood sign. And then I want to tour the West Coast.

Easy, sailor.

So we start with a City.

And then, maybe move to another one, and not set it up as a guide, but as a memoir. For more people seem to want to visit where memoirs have been, than guidebooks. Ask Hemingway in his clean and well-lighted place.

San Jose on the Water

Continuing adoration of the other City by the Bay in California (yes, San Diego has a bay too), I have to briefly touch on some of the places that I will be visiting again and again when I go back.
I won’t be moving there, at least not just yet, because I am tired of following others in my life around, but having MS and Serena there gives me a place to escape from and a family to “go home” to.
Here are the places we visited, in my crash course, the weekend I was there:
All of the piers on the oceanfront (Pacific Beach, Ocean Beach, Imperial Beach)
Del Mar (a personal fave for the views and the breakfast options)
Seaport Village (GREAT bookstore there…more to come on that in future posts)
Cabrillo (loved the panorama; reminded me of Moraga Hill and SF)
Coronado
Gaslamp (a bit of a young crowd for my taste, but MS thinks we should go back sometime—that one was just a drive-through)
La Jolla
And at one point, since Jo doesn’t have her passport (stop looking at me like that), we drove down to the border and looked at Mexico. If Customs would have stopped we had a plan—I was to speak in broken French with Serena while MS remained mute. The Kingston Trio would have been proud.
I’ll be back. The weather is here. Wish you were beautiful.

Lack of Culprit

So California ISN’T the problem.

The problem is San Francisco.

Hop on SFGate.com on any given week and you will probably catch a story on how the City is failing on the homeless question, or how the homeless have overrun a neighborhood, or how we need a program for the homeless, etc., etc., etc.

Or you can visit San Diego and wonder how in the hell San Francisco gets it so wrong.

I am not from this state, and this post is going to be more of an education for me rather than news to the reader, I’m sure, but I have so many questions about this. Is San Diego in the red part of the state? Between the time that I landed in San Diego on Friday, April 14th at 11 pm and took off on Sunday, April 16th at 4 pm, I encountered 4 homeless people, and one of them bore a strong resemblance to an earlier one that I counted. The sidewalks were baked white in the April sun and were stunningly free of human excrement or even the peppering of blackened gum spots. I would say that SD powerwashes their sidewalks every hour, except the walks are dry. The only other option is that they get tough with their homeless. When I asked my brother about it, he replied, “Yeah, they don’t put up with them here.”

Would it be wrong to write to Gavin and ask him to take a quick shuttle to SD and find out what they do? Or does one of my readers know?

If it’s extermination, I don’t need to know, but in the same state homeless program failures seems extreme even for here.

Her Royal Highness, Queen Jo

Discovered one very important fact about my flight to and from San Diego last week—my stomach, ears and I are spoiled brats when it comes to flying.

(I’m probably a spoiled brat in other areas according to other people, too, but that’s not the topic of discussion today, she writes, laughing.)

When I am back in coach among the pink neon running lights of Virgin Airways and wedged in the last row and in the last seat, I am nauseous the entire flight, wearing my seatbelt and half of the seatbelt of the guy next to me, and can’t put my seat back. The attendants don’t know I exist, and getting their attention would mean losing my precarious balance and throwing up, so I sit quiet and listen to the three songs that they have programmed in of Springsteen on the Red System in front of me over and over, all from the Magic album. They have lots of other artists on Red (the in-flight MP3, streaming video, and satellite movie system), but I put on Springsteen because he keeps me from throwing up at the moment. He is my mantra. Think Meg Ryan in French Kiss singing “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” instead of “I Love Paris in the Springtime.” Hey, it worked.

Heading back I couldn’t use the internet to print my ticket because the brother and sis-in-law don’t have internet, but I do the self-check-in at the airport, and low and behold I am offered one of two first class spaces available for $50 more. I had never flown first class before. I had $50 to splurge on myself, even though I’m sure any other puritanical American would have saved the money. This is my version of the California manicure. I spring for it. I’m awkward the whole time, but I can breathe and I eat a meal on board, free of charge of course because I’m in first class even if it’s only an hour and six minute flight. I watch the music video of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss doing “Gone, Gone, Gone” off of their collaberation “Raising Sand.” I read. I’m relaxed.

Not to sound like a hick on purpose, but WHERE IN GOD’S NAME HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE????

Don’t worry. I had the same reaction to the mountains the first time I saw them in New Mexico.

Woops

Thought I had a couple of more entries pre-typed, but no dice. I would start on the SD trip, but I have to be out the door in a few minutes.

This may either be a week of very short entries, or maybe my work will let me have nights off and I can get some writing done...

Stand by and cross your fingers.

Home

Back in the Northern Bay Area.

And if you know what means, then you know where I have been.

Cabrillo and Del Mar were faves.

Dream on, dear reader.