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Amanda M. Blake

~ Of fairy tales and tentacles

Amanda M. Blake

Tag Archives: art

Resolute

01 Tuesday Jan 2019

Posted by amandamblake in A Few Thoughts, Writing

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art, creativity, editing, resolutions, the thorns series, Thorns, Writing

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Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Looking back on 2018, I managed to reach several, if not all creative goals. I didn’t get to write my short horror novels. I made that resolution when work had a lot more downtime, but around May, that downtime disappeared, so they didn’t happen. I also didn’t manage to reboot my jewelry-making. When I had breaks at home, I generally wanted to rest rather than work.

But I did write an average of one horror review a month. Got the last one in just under the wire:

1. “The Lazarus Effect”
2. “Would You Rather”
3. “Gothika”
4. “Teeth”
5. “The Awakening”
6. “Contracted”
7. “Starry Eyes”
8. “As Above, So Below”
9. “Slender Man”
10. “The ReZort”
11. “Silent Hill”
12. “The Wolfman”

And I did write an average of one song a month. Almost an average of two:

1. “Vultures”
2. “Anything but a Diamond”
3. “Standing Water”
4. “Fools”
5. “The Valley of the Shadow”
6. “City on the Hill”
7. “Plenty of Fish”
8. “Devil in the Details”
9. “Trypophobia”
10. “Without You”
11. “Svrcina”
12. “My Captain”
13. “Sleepwalker (Anthony’s Song)”
14. “Music Box”
15. “Rest of Your Life”
16. “Red”
17. “The Rose Less Traveled”
18. “Tattoo”
19. “What Happened”
20. “For the Last Time”
21. “Floodwaters”
22. “Choice”
23. “Would You Rather”

Most importantly, I managed to publish THORNS, the first book in the series of the same name. I’d done edits in previous years and made a number of changes then, but this required an intensive double edit (with the help of my beta readers), then doing the two indie pro edits in tandem, then proofreading. It basically took all year, piece by piece. But I’m really happy with the end product, and I hope you are as well.

I plan for the same marathon in 2019 with ROSE RED, the second book in the Thorns series, to be published around the same time. Hopefully in October, because doing anything other than NaNoWriMo in November is hellish. I’ll also do a single pass through BLUEBIRDS, the third book, though it’ll go through the more intensive phase of preparation in 2020.

I don’t really do resolutions. I have goals, and most of them are ambitious but doable, and I don’t hate myself for not accomplishing them. I focus on the creative, because that’s the meaning of life to me. My writing schedule for 2019 is all set up, and while I foresee some changes, it would be awesome if I could keep to it. 2020 will have a lot more room for writing new things, but I want to get a good set done this year, too.

In addition to ROSE RED, I’m putting those two short novels back on the docket, and I hope to do a rewrite of WAR HOUSE, because it’s also a fairly short (for me) novel, but odds are that these will be the first to be sacrificed if time becomes an issue.

What’s not optional is the fourth Thorns book, PUPPETEER. I haven’t written a new Thorns novel since 2015, and I really want to get the next three tackled. But considering their lengths, that can sometimes be like climbing Everest. I enjoy it, but it’s a lot of time required. I predict three months, but it may end up being three and a half or four. Yikes.

I really would like to reboot my jewelry making. I have pendant components ready to be put together, but I just need to commit to the time to create and take pictures (because I have an actual camera, not a smartphone, it’s a longer process.

This year I’m not going to be as focused on writing songs, but I’d still like to write an average of one a month. I may or may not try to write the music to one.

I’m also continuing my goal of an average of one full horror review a month. It’s a good amount to commit to.

I’d also like to engage in one new creative thing. I keep going from calligraphy to sketching to painting. I’ve done all at one time, calligraphy least of all, but they all intimidate me.

On the non-creative side of life, a few things changed in 2018. I took on more responsibility at work, which filled up that time I used to have too much of. Of course, the business itself had major changes as well that challenged my writing schedule mightily, but I don’t like talking about dayjob work.

Our house underwent drastic renovation, and I basically got rid of my old bedroom and replaced it with furniture fully of my choosing and funding. It was the first time I really got to do that. My old furniture was perfectly respectable and not young-looking or anything (antiques and a sweet daybed), but it was the same furniture I’d had all my life, and it wasn’t stuff I chose. I’m really happy with the furniture I chose, built around a completely awesome drawer unit. And I and the cat love my new bed (I think she’s convinced it’s the best cat bed in the world). I’m still in the process of making my room my own, and for all the clutter I cleared out, there’s more left to get rid of.

I also started improving my diet, although I still have an unhealthy attachment to bottled Frappuccinos and tortillas. I’ve lost some weight and hope to lose some more, but I don’t expect too much.

The real accomplishments are in the realm of my writing. That’s the life I chose, and I’m mostly happy with that. It’s my favorite thing to do, spending time with all these amazing people and having adventures with them. Looking forward to doing so much more of that in 2019, even if the rest of the world seems to be falling apart. This much I can do.

Anywhere but Here

04 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by amandamblake in A Few Thoughts, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

art, being human, depression, dissociation, sondheim, writer

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I was listening to Josh Groban’s recent album Stages, and “Finishing the Hat” came on – from Sundays in the Park with George, a Sondheim musical inspired by artist Georges Seurat painting “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.”

It’s a painful song about the woman George loves leaving him, but he still has his work that needs to be done, finishing painting the hat on the woman. The lyrics to the song are marvelous, detailing a different way of looking at the world, as negative space and windows, where the artist grants as much importance to the hat as the figure wearing it.

Finishing the hat
How you have to finish the hat
How you watch the rest of the world
From a window
While you finish the hat

Writers, and I assume other artists as well, are dissociative by nature. I detach from the world and slip into another, wear the skins of many characters, experience an existence slightly different from my own while also living in the one I’m in. And whenever I’m working on dayjob or cooking or other responsibilities, part of me is always somewhere else, always needing more than where I am or what I’m doing. I can be absentminded, selectively blind, deaf, mute, and all because I’m not entirely here. At the recommendation of a therapist, I tried mindfulness once. I found it lacking on a therapeutic level. That little part of me cannot remain tethered. And why should it? What would keep me here?

Entering the world of the hat
Reaching through the world of the hat
Like a window
Back to this one from that

I spend all day mentalizing the scene, trying different phrases, different angles, different dialogue, playing it out over and over and over until it feels solid, then finding another to work on. I get home and I’m usually too mentally/emotionally exhausted to write, which hurts all the more after all the preparation and build-up and genuine need to get these bottlenecking ideas out of my head and into written words where they belong. My real work, this work, and I can barely make headway like I used to when this work was all I did (and when I made little to no money doing it).

Dayjob consumes my time, but my writing consumes my life. I’m far more comfortable dissociating when I’m deep in depression than I am bearing reality, but sometimes I realize how much of my life is spent watching the world from a window while I finish the story. And there’s always another story. Too many stories and never enough time. Worse, never enough energy. I wish coffee were the potion that I wanted it to be. It keeps my eyes open, nothing more. Sometimes my heart races, but that’s decidedly unpleasant.

And when the woman that you wanted goes
You can say to yourself, well, I give what I give
But the woman who won’t wait for you knows
That however you live
There’s a part of you always standing by
Mapping out the sky

There is always a part of me discontent with the world I’m in, always wanting a world that can only be inside my head or on a page. And in having to make a choice between ever having a deeper relationship with a person or writing, I suppose I’ve married myself to the work, because I can only ever successfully do one or the other, and the stories aren’t going away, while no person’s exactly clamoring for my time. I could never give everything I needed to give to a person, despite loneliness, despite human need.

Perhaps the reason I’ve never felt like a human being was because I’m a writer instead. And are we merely ghosts?

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