Nordstrom's Dressing Room Trauma

I was at Nordstorm's last night wandering nervously around the Women's Undergarments section. I'm going to a BLACK TIE dinner on New Year's Eve and I bought a killer black velvet gown, and...well, let's just say Miss Turtle was in need of some new undergarments for her dress.

I wandered around looking at lacy frilly things. I picked out one or two items to try on in the dressing room. I get into the dressing room, disrobe, and stare in complete horror at my reflection in the mirror.

Am I really that fat? Am I really that ugly? Do I look that bad wearing light turquoise? Do I look that bad wearing black? Do I look that bad even existing?

Even my long, dark hair which flows halfway down my back and which I know is beautiful, looked horrible in that dressing room. Even my bright smile looked dim and gnarly.

I tried on several items trying to focus on finding what I needed, bought my stuff, and ran out of there. Looking at myself in the mirror this morning, I concluded that the lighting in the women's dressing room at Nordstrom's in the San Francisco Centre is calculated to make you want to slit your wrists.

I spent the rest of the evening lamenting the fact that I, who used to be unique and pretty, had suddenly turned into disgusting troll. Who would love me? Who would even look at me? Will the people who are my friends and family still want to talk to me? Am I Medusa?

I got over it by settling in with the wonderful jacuzzi style footbath my brother got me for Christmas, sipping a cup of hot tea, and counting my blessings:

• Sure, my arms and legs are ugly as sin, but at least I have them.
• My eyes might look beady in those awful dressing room lights, but at least I'm not blind.
• I'm a smart girl. Really.
• I have a good job, good friends, and a family that loves me.
• I'm going to a BLACK TIE dinner for New Year's and I'm going even if I have to put a bag over my head.
• My dog loves me. So do the penguins.
• My feet are small, my hands are capable and I have great cleavage (when I feel like showing it).
• I do have beautiful long, dark hair. At least in the sunlight I do.
• I have very few wrinkles, although I have big "smile" lines.
  

Time to stop. Time to get off this stupid tangent and start packing for my awesome New Year's weekend. There's wine to taste, spa treatments to indulge in and cleavage to flaunt.

Happy New Year's everybody and don't let the dressing room lighting get you down.

Miss Turtle's Mostly Christmas Haiku 2006

The Ex-Mas Bells Ring
Trees blurt out their Pine-Sol scent
Cold fingers my toes

Brother's gift is late
Forgot to wrap the others
Remember gift cards!

Head cold, sleepy, snarf
Move slowly, my parents wait
Must get going now

Although I complain
I still like the trees and lights
Electric snowflakes

So Merry Christmas
And a Happy Holiday
Wishing you love, peace

A Note - Folks, progress has been made. A year ago I would not even DREAM that I would have enough courage to write a Mostly Christmas Haiku. A year ago I was so afraid of verses and syllables that I would have done anything to get away from them. Haiku? Just say the word to me and I'd look away, eyes downcast, face blushed, unable to even try it. I credit this change to the Choka and the good people who run and contribute to it.

When the Choka first started, I was even afraid to go on there and look around. When I finally did all I could do was read it and marvel at everyone's cleverness. Now, I contribute regularly, have been famed and shamed, and was even included in awgeez' "Sam I Am" Shame Alley write up from Week 38.

Choka on everyone. And if you haven't checked it out, please do so. The more, the merrier.

It's My Birthday...

Today I am 41. The thing that has been running though my head all day is Smeagol saying to Deagol, "It's my birthday and I wants it!" I have no "one ring" to sustain me through 76 years of searching. No literary masterpiece to couch my exploits in, no Led Zepplin song inspired by me.

It's just me and my dog. Me and my good friends. Me and my family. Me and the killer chocolate cake my secretary made for me. It's not a bad life. It could be a whole lot worse. I could be filing for bankruptcy like someone I know.

There are good things happening, no doubt about that.

No doubts at all.

Ugh.

In the back hallways of my mind, a barely audible voice is singing:
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday, Miss Turtle
Happy Birthday to you.

I'm sitting here slumped in front of my computer screen/32 inch widescreen TV. I'm gearing myself up to go out into the cold night so my dog can "do her business."

Universal heartache abounds.

Happy birthday to me.

A Conversation, Clean Sheets and a Book Cover

Three Beautiful Things for today:

1. I have a difficult time meeting people in my day to day life and can even be shy around people I know in structured situations like a party so I decided I would "practice" by talking to people I don't know as a way of getting used to making the first contact. Today I talked to a guy named Bruce while we were waiting to be called for a massage at Nordstrom Spa. I asked him how his day was, he said he was here on business and tweaked his back while playing golf. I said I was recovering from last night's firm party and needed "balancing." A short but fun conversation.
2. I have to say one of my favorite feelings on this EARTH is climbing into bed right after I've put on clean sheets. I wriggle my feet around, I sigh and roll a bit. I squeeze the covers with my fingers, relishing that wonderful feeling. Ahhhhh!
3. Last, but not least: one of my best friends had to do a book cover for an assignment and she did one for the novel I just drafted "A Lament for KP." Although the novel title will likely change and I won't start revising it until the New Year, this book cover is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Makes me cry as I close this post. 'sniff' A lovely photo will follow in the next couple of days.

May all of you have three beautiful things to list today.

A Beautiful Day Along The Embarcadero

A friend of mind showed me pictures of a mother and child sculpture she took at Burning Man two years ago. I'm almost certain this is the same sculpture but without the the fire coming out the hands and the fire-laden footprints behind them. That's the Bay Bridge in the background

I'm surprised at how well this shot of the Bay Bridge came out. I didn't even realize the red boat was in the picture until I viewed it later.

Speaking of Red, this small diner-style "Java House" is an iconic fixture. They serve a great breakfast.

I must have taken these pictures over a month ago just before I started writing my novel. The weather lately has been cold, rainy, and foggy. Very different from the glorious blue skies in these photos.

Random Jangle

Today I marched through screens and tags and duplications. I've been on that march for weeks now, but all I get is .tiff files stuck to the bottom of my heels for my trouble.

I'm still waiting for the new lamp that's supposed to liven up my already live office. Smaller, yes, but it's got damn good feng shui (although it's missing the goldfish bowl). No matter, fish swim in my waters on a regular basis, the natural light from the skyscrapers outside my window encouraging them to no end.

The eternal army is unhappy with their new quarters. They keep sending me irritated dispatches. "No one can see us from this angle," they whine, "No one oohs and aahhs anymore."

To which I respond, "I guess my oohhing and aahhing ain't enough for you guys, eh?" They're just jealous of the native americans, coal miners and beekeepers across the way. And they still haven't figure out which aerial shot is London. I made it easy for them, made sure the London Eye was almost dead center in the picture, but they're still guessing.

Mother octopus guards her brood. Her eyes are closed, must conserve energy. An octopus has that Zen monk air until they surprise the crowd by unscrewing the jar lid and pulling out the prize fish of the day. Spectators gape in shock. They learned something new today.

Head and neck. Nose made of cartilage. The person turns this way and that, but is tired of the exposure. They want a rest, keep asking me to turn to the part about the structure of the sun or how a microprocessor works. Energy lurks within these realms.

Time, Structure and Balance

Lately, I've been focusing on the big TSB. This is probably in response to November's novel writing accomplishment and my own self-marauding feelings. Having been acutely aware of both ends of the spectrum of my deepest self, I can see how both sides contradict, feed and can even co-exist together. Here's what I mean:

While writing the novel, I learned that I was able to take the zillions of ideas and swirling thoughts inside my own head and condense/collapse them into a story. Even more amazing, I was able to do that in a specific, demanding time frame. This is huge for me (and probably for others who participated). The number of stories/scenes/scenarios rolling around inside my head are probably countless, but I've learned they are useless up there in my skull. The real trick is to get it down on paper/computer where you can actually do something with it if you choose.

And I was able to do all of this noveling while standing on the plateau of my own despair getting the crap kicked of myself by my own persistent brokenhearted feelings. Sure, it was time to move on, and has been for quite some time, but that didn't stop me from continually torturing myself in this way.

I learned that even in my darkest, most self-indulgent times I could move forward in other ways even if I was still on that plateau. And, because everything else is moving forward, I have no choice but to follow by climbing down from that plateau to cheerier possibilities. The key for me is Time, Structure and Balance.

• Time - I've started scheduling my activities into specific time slots. This came directly out of learning to figure out when I was going to work on my novel in such a way as to meet that 11/30/06 deadline. While this seems confining, especially since I like some degree of spontaneity, I find it liberating because it allows me to focus on what I'm doing in the moment. One of my problems is I don't have a good sense for how long it takes me to do things in my personal life. I tend to over-schedule or not schedule at all. Scheduling in this manner really helps me.
  
• Structure - I started setting goals and mapping out the steps to accomplish them (also the result of writing a novel in a month). I've done this many times in the past, but never made it past the planning stages. Slipping goal-related tasks into time slots along with everything else seems like a natural next step.
• Balance - I need Balance like a fish (or turtle) needs water. I'm learning that internal vs. external, active vs. passive, open vs. closed, etc. is crucial to my feelings of contentment. If I start spending too much time doing something/not doing something then it's time to focus on the other side of things.

If I were feeling childish (and believe me, I often do), I could complain that this past year and a month have been a complete waste of time for me because I'm not in the relationship I really wanted to be in, but I know this has not been a waste of time at all. In fact this past year and a month will likely be the biggest turning point in my adult life. The lessons learned, things accomplished, and people I've met have all been priceless. Preparation for the unknown waters, wide horizons, and endless possibilities up ahead have finally been completed.

The Song That Keeps Following Me Around

"Miss Turtle."

"Miss Turtle."

I can hear Mr. Gryphon talking to me, but I can't respond to him. I'm standing in the concrete BART station at Glen Park. It's Friday night and I'm leaning up against a pillar. Trains going to the airport keep pulling up and departing, causing the wind from the tunnel to whoosh around me. Trains going back downtown are not coming any time soon and that's where I need to go. I missed my station because I so upset. I'm sending an email message. Another futile one. Tears stream down my face. People are walking by. I know they are glancing uneasily at me. I'm not sobbing, but my tears are unmistakable. I refuse to look up at them.

I turn away from Mr. Gryphon so I can focus on finishing my email message. I finally do and another train to SFO pulls up. I briefly think of that line from Casablanca. Something about "a man with a comical look on his face standing on the train platform looking like his teeth has been kicked in." Too bad I'm not wearing a putty colored trenchcoat and black fedora. Both look good on me.

The side of the train platform going towards downtown fills up. More people steal glances at me. I focus on the far wall. A dirty stone wall with sharp, mottled tiles. I glance up at the ceiling. The concrete beams seem to be decorated with worn out striped fabric. Very odd, early 70s.

I continually wipe my eyes. The tears have settled on my fingertips like drew drops clinging to a half-closed rose petal. Salt from my tears is starting to dry on my face. Perhaps if I cry enough, the salt will eventually form crystals on my lashes. I hear Mr. Gryphon behind me, but still ignore him.

"Miss Turtle." Mr. Gryphon comes around the other side of the pillar. I don't talk, just cry some more. He hands me one of his handkerchiefs. I really need one. The skin on my face feels tight. I once read that tears release some kind of toxin in your system. I'm not sure what good a toxin would be on my skin, but it doesn't matter I guess.

I'm finally able to talk a little, "Why am I so stupid? Why do I do these things?"

"I can't answer that. I can tell you the decor in this place is really bad. Are we going to wander the airport like accusing ghosts or go back downtown?" he asks. He is looking down at me, arms folded. People move around him, having conversations about co-workers and television shows.

"We're definitely going back downtown." I wipe my eyes some more. They keep streaming like I'd been hit with the white billowing clouds of tear gas.

He nods and leans on the pillar with me. I hear a song starting. One with the following lyrics:

"Does life seem nasty, brutish and short
Come on up to the house
The seas are stormy
And you can't find no port
Come on up to the house

(Chorus)
There's nothin in the world
that you can do
You gotta come on up to the house
And you been whipped by the forces
that are inside you
Come on up to the house

Well you're high on top
of your mountain of woe
Come on up to the house
Well you know you should surrender
but you can't let go
You gotta come on up to the house"
(Tom Waits, Come On Up to the House, Mule Variations (1999)

"Are you playing that, Mr. Gryphon?"

"No. I noticed it keeps following you around, though," he says. I smile a little. He's smart enough not to say the next thing and I'm grateful for it.

"I don't know where the damn house is so how can I surrender and go on up there?" I look up at the black BART sign with flashing red letters. It tells me that the train going downtown will show up in 4 minutes.

"You're asking me where it is?" he fluffs his feathers much like how the penguins do when they want to relax.

"No, I'm not. Perhaps we should hang out at the Casino tonight."

"Not a good idea. There's a brawl that's been going on there for the last two weeks."

"I guess we should go home then, Mr. Gryphon," I sigh. I really don't know what else to do. "Why does this shit take so much time? Why do I have to learn to be patient with my bombed out feelings? Why can't I just turn them off?"

"The price you pay for that kind of behavior can be problematic," says Mr. Gryphon. I look up at him. "It's not in your nature to turn off your feelings. You are not a faucet and wishing you were one is a waste of time. Wishing you were anything other than what you are or wishing you'd done something differently is also a waste of time."

"I hate this whole thing, Mr. Gryphon."

"I know you do,"he says. His tone reminds me of someone and I wince.

The train is coming now and everyone moves towards the platform. Before we join the boarding crowd, I turn and look at him again, "I know what to do now, Mr. Gryphon. I really do."

"Then do it," he says. He has to bend down and pull his wings in tightly to get on the train. We manage to find two seats together. We do not speak again for the rest of the night. I am too busy trying to figure out the how of what needs to happen next.

O-ZO-MATLI! Ya Se Fue! Ya Se Fue!

Ozomatli, The Fillmore, SF (11/30/06)

Ozo playing in the middle of the audience. We were all sitting on our knees around them.

Ozo playing on the very narrow stairs in the lobby of The Fillmore.

Years ago when Ozo came out with their first self-titled CD, I stumbled on it in the Hear store at Stanford Mall in Palo Alto, CA. I was working in Palo Alto at the time and had started going to the Hear store after work to listen to CDs. It was the only store I had been in at the time where you could wander from display to display listening to whatever CD was on the headphones. Curious about the CD display card's "kitchen sink" description, I gave Ozo a listen.

...

Things haven't been quite the same for me since. I had never heard such a band before. 10 guys from East LA who play a combination of hip-hop, salsa, and funk, all with a Latin music undercurrent. I bought the CD and listened to it over and over. When Ozo came out with Embrace the Chaos, I bought that too.

I only have the first two CDs, but I'm going to remedy that situation tomorrow evening after I hang out with the penguins. One thing I love about this band is the sound is very nostalgic for me. Since I'm half Mexican, that Latin undercurrent/Mariachi sound reminds me dearly of my grandfather, who used to play the guitar for me, and of my childhood.

I had never seen Ozo live until last night although I figured they must play a monster live show. I was right. Late last month when I was feeling like the broken hearted loser completely incapable of ever finding someone who will actually care about me (okay, so I'll admit it's over a month later and I still feel that way much of time, but I'm getting over it - very slowly), I decided that I needed to have some kind of fun so I bought my single Ozo ticket.

Yes, I went to a concert alone for the first time. I was too upset to go through the sometimes humiliating process of trying to find someone to go with me. I don't know anyone who's even heard of Ozo except one person and he doesn't want to have anything to do with me.

Last night I had my doubts. I've been to The Fillmore before to see the Stay Cats (what a fucking monster show that was!), but that was a long time ago and I was worried about it. I also thought that going to a concert alone would be like going on a roller coaster alone: somewhat fun, but a curiously empty experience when you don't have someone else there to scream with.

I went anyway. Thank God.

I've seen a few shows in my life and THAT WAS THE BEST FUCKING SHOW I'VE EVER SEEN! They were unbelievable! I danced for so long and so hard that I must have lost five pounds from slamming my ass around and sweating buckets. My neck, hips and back were so stiff when I left The Fillmore and walked out elated into the cold San Francisco night that I had to take a muscle relaxer when I went to bed. I lost my voice because I sang to all the songs I knew, all the songs in Spanish (even though I don't speak Spanish and most certainly had them wrong) and even sang to the songs I'd never heard before. I lost my voice because I screamed my head off.

Carlos Santana was in house but he didn't play. They were very proud of that and kept mentioning it. Chali 2na was in the house (he was on the first album) and they played one of my all time favorite Ozo songs the Cut Chemist Suite. We were in the house and the walls were burning and sweating.

Did I miss having someone there with me? Not really. It would have been nice, but it didn't detract from what will probably rank as one of the top three shows I've ever seen in my life when I look back as I'm laying on my deathbed.

Ozo is playing tonight and tomorrow too. I thought about going again, but I'm still really muscle sore. We'll see. I may decide to chuck everything and go see them tomorrow too.

***

I have learned the hard way that it does help, no matter how deep your grief is or how much you just want to curl up into a ball and die, to fill your life with glorious experiences like seeing the best concert of your life or writing a novel in a month. It doesn't make the pain go away, but it does prove that you can make your life better and you do have the power to make great things happen even when all seems lost.

The Casino

Today I wandered through the Casino of my torched love life. It's still there, some parts of the building are black with soot, but everyone just stays on the side that's still good. It's warm outside this evening (it's always evening) so the sheared off parts of the building don't bother anyone.

It's crowded here, but not because I've had a lot of lovers. It's crowded because the angels and demons of my psyche like to come here for recreational purposes. You do know that they like to gamble, don't you? I often wonder why they don't repair the place, but I realized they don't care at all. So much for divine intervention.

Various characters and monsters also show up. On Thursday nights, everyone gets a real 100% bonus so the place is packed. Sometimes it looks like the occupants of the Cantina scene were transported here (there is no Han Solo even though I've wished for it often enough).

The Casino looks like the Bellagio or some facsimile of it complete with fake Chihuly flowers. All day and all night the tables go on. The sounds of video poker, slot machines sounding everywhere. Bells and whistles. There are cushion chairs that look like overstuffed tomatoes (reference to E.M. Forester), the people who work there are running two and fro. They all know me and nod, but no one smiles.

A brawl breaks out approximately every hour on the hour. For some reason, angels and demons get petty hotheaded while they're gambling. The fights can go on for hundreds of years which is why security's first priority is to get them out of the building as soon as possible. Every once in a while there's a full scale fight that half the Casino takes part in. The tables are smashed, chips fly everywhere, holes are punched in the walls, the sound of unearthly screams and shouts are everywhere. We've learned that it's best to move to the other side of the building (the side that isn't fighting) and wait it out. The last one lasted about a week. Group fights are always shorter. Afterwards, everyone apologizes profusely and they clean up the place. I figure when they finally brawl on the side of the building that's burned out, it will finally get repaired.

Big gaudy flower displays, lots of overpriced restaurants and, of course, the wedding chapel. I try to stay as far away from that place as possible. There's even huge Ferrari dealership, the largest ever seen by human eyes (several floors). I never get to drive them or even ride in the cars. Too expensive. At least there's a world class art museum, but I'm the only one who visits.

I don't know how to gamble. I'm too shy to try my luck at the tables. Hell, I'm even too shy to try to learn how to play. The employees always ask me if I want a lesson or two. I shake my head, saying nothing.

On the other side of the building, I see Mr. Gryphon in the poker room. He's a little difficult to spot since everyone in there is immortal and sporting feathery or scaly wings. He's a great poker player, has offered to teach me several times, but I always decline. I've always been bad at bluffing.

Tonight with the sounds of the games playing on, I decide to stop and sit on the floor in the middle of the wide thoroughfare. Everyone steps politely around me. It's my place, after all.

NaNoWriMo Update: 50,179 Words!!!!!

I'M THE GREATEST!!!! I SHOOK THE WORLD!!!!! I SHOOK THE WORLD!!!! I'M A BAAAAAAAAD [WO]MAN!!!!! I'M THE GREATEST!!!! I SHOOK THE WORLD!!!!!

(with apologizes to Mr. Ali)

Yes, Dear Reader, I officially crossed the NaNoWriMo finish line. I can run around my apartment shouting and dancing my jigs, but it does feel a little lonely because there's only me and my dog. It's a bit late to start making phone calls so I can't do my Ali imitation over the phone right now.

Still, I was working so hard at getting to the right word count that I didn't realize what I achieved until after I scrambled my novel (all 147 pages of it) and prepared to have it word counted at the official NaNoWriMo website. As I browsed for the "Final Lament Scramble.txt" I felt a faint glow which grew brighter and brighter. When I got the web page that said "WINNER!" I almost couldn't believe it. Then I started to giggle. And then laugh. And then belly laugh.

My only wish is for a significant other to share this victory with. Oh well. Perhaps I'll get my wish next year when I do this all over again.

Tomorrow I'm sending out a huge email detailing my victory and then me and my friends are going out and CELEBRATING!!!

NaNoWriMo Update: 42,648 Words So Far

So they put up their automatic word counter over at the NaNoWriMo website and since they mentioned that word counters can differ from one another, I decided to scramble my novel according to their instructions and submit it to the word counter just to see far off it is from my counter in Word.

The very good news: Yes, folks, Miss Turtle has officially gained 2,641 words without doing any more work this evening. That's almost 10 pages of writing. Amazing!
The bad news: I fear when I reach 50,000 words, my novel will not have the obligatory "The End" written at words 49,998 and 49,999 and I'll have to continue to do some writing after November 29th until the first draft is finished.

I guess I'll just have to start writing leaner and meaner so everything ends at 50,000 words or thereabouts. How I'm going to do that, I don't know. Like everything, I'm going to have to figure it out.

NaNoWriMo Update: 40,007 Words so Far

Yes, I'm going to reach my goal of 50,000 words by November 29, 2006. Why by November 29th and not November 30th? Because I'm going to a concert on November 30th that's why.

Actually my hope is to finish the last 10,000 words tomorrow. Whew! I'm completely burned out from spending the entire evening writing that I don't know if I can handle writing all day tomorrow, but we'll see. We'll see.

I'm babbling, I know. Sorry about that. I'll be doing "real" posts as soon as I finish this 50,000 word monster. I've got a backlog of posts to do for this blog, but I don't have the strength or mental capacity for it since I've been doing NaNoWriMo. I can't even update the 5-7-5 space.

More later. It's time to for bed.

Oh and I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

NaNoWriMo Update: 20,112 Words

I had hoped to make it to 25,000 words today, but doubling my word count is still good progress. Total number of pages written is 63.

Once again, I spent all day writing. I was having a tough time of it. I kept getting distracted by the charms of Wikipedia, figuring out what to eat, trying to decide if I should look for more classical music CDs, pondering the history of drug use in the 19th century, and I kept reading plot spoilers for movies (most notably Saw II and Saw III).

My story still wants to write itself with very little conscious input from me. I was trying to decide how to I was going to introduce several important elements, but while I was trying to figure it out, I found I had already written said elements down without paying much attention to what I was putting down.

The plot still has holes and lacks some fundamental character development, but I've made notes of all that and will take care of those flaws when I do the re-write.

I'm very tired. It's almost midnight again and I have to walk the dog before I go to bed. I hope to have 5,000 more words by Wednesday, but I won't be surprised if I decide to take Monday and Tuesday off again.

The Picnic Table

"Miss Turtle, you're supposed to be writing your novel, not sitting here with me."

"I know, but I've missed you. It's been forever since you've made an appearance on this blog," I say. Gryphon and I are sitting at our picnic table. In the forest paradise of my own psyche, the picnic table is a place where we meet often. There's a plastic red and white checkered tablecloth, fine cheeses from Cowgirl Creamery, upscale crackers I've never heard of (forget Saltines and Ritz), some fresh grapes, stuffed marinated olives, truffle pate and some pears. The usual beverage accompaniment would be a soft white wine or a medium red, but since neither Gryphon or I hardly drink alcohol, there's Martinelli's.

I pick up a stuffed olive and bite into it. Yum. "I was just thinking that when NaNoWriMo is over, perhaps I'll start up The White City again" (a blog I started for about week which featured Mr. Gryphon and I in adventures).

"That would be fun, Miss Turtle, but we have regular adventures already," he says. He is picking up an upscale soda cracker and delicately spreading a very soft brie on it. The forest is life affirming. Everywhere the trees are lush and sustaining.

"Well, yes, of course we do, but those are personal adventures that I can't really share with anyone," I take a sip from the flute of apple cider, "Don't you get tired of being my protector and savior during my nightmares?"

"Never. I welcome it. I don't like dying, by the way. I just wanted to tell you that," Gryphon suddenly looks up through the trees. His wings open just slightly, the tips of his claws just show. I look at what is making him uneasy. It's only the T-Rex crashing through the trees. I wave him over, but he only smiles his killer smile and waves back before moving on.

"Mr. Gryphon, you might not like dying, but you only had to die once. I died at least two times before being scattered as part of the Universe."

"That sounds painful," said Grphyon. He is completely unconcerned.

"It wasn't. It was wonderful, in fact."

"I know," I wince a little at that. The way he says it reminds me of someone. This makes me think of something. "Mr. Gryphon, aren't you at all curious about who you're based on? Don't you want to know?"

"Not really. Does it matter? Besides, I get the feeling I might have started out based on someone, but I think I'm different now," he says. He stretches his long legs out under the table. There is a life-changing warm breeze. The kind of breeze that makes you want to weep with joy.

"You're different, but some of you is the same. I think I've taken the aspects I needed for a companion like you and kept them with me."

Gryphon smiles at me. He yawns. "I'm feeling very relaxed, Miss Turtle. Thank you for joining me here."

"You're welcome," I reply. As he turns to pick up a bunch of grapes, I look at him longingly. "I love you," I say so softly that he doesn't hear. But it's not him I'm telling that to, it's someone else. Perhaps this is my way of finally moving on. I thought I lost everything, but I still have my dearest Gryphon, my dreams and wishes, (painful) personal growth, this blog and the belief that love is (still) everything.

A trio of frogs dressed in tuxedos come around the bend. They are carrying their musical instruments and take a moment to set up. We watch them in silence, eating and drinking. The forest is awash with colors from a Van Gogh painting, all brights and yellows. The frogs start to play Mozart, of course. I look at Gryphon and smile. The forest is alive with birdsong to enhance the musical experience.

Things have changed, yes, but I have no doubt that all the questions rolling around in my head will be answered sooner rather than later.

The Coffee Table, Tiny Fry and Mindfulness

It's hard to think of three beautiful things right now. There are many, but my state of mind doesn't want to go look for them. I scratch and dig anyway. It's good to challenge your sadness and lethargy.

1) The Coffee Table - Biologist #1 at the Aquarium found and placed a coffee table in the middle of a four-cubicle space. We talked about it, discussed board games that we can put underneath it, talked about the flowers Biologist #4 had put on top of it, Biologist #6 said he would bring in a carpet (it's sitting on bare concrete right now) and we ate our lunch around it. Biologist #1 outdid himself even more by setting up his self-spinning disco ball above it.

2) Tiny Fry - Since we'll be moving into the new aquarium in the process of being built, biologists have been setting up temporary holding areas in any place they can. The temporary space we're in is very small. Tanks are everywhere, especially in the basement. The "Holding Room" has new racks of fresh and salt water tanks. We've been lucky to hatch out many tiny fry (baby fish so small that sometimes it's hard to see them) and many of them are growing up healthy in large numbers. Good thing because we're going to need them all.

3) Mindfulness - I spent time practicing mindfulness today and I was amazed at how beautiful the world is. This prompted me to start conversations with people I wouldn't have normally tried to talk to: families lost in Union Square, couples on MUNI, men and women. From the polished worn out door to the elevator in my building to how it feels to slowly pet my dog while sitting on the floor with my eyes closed to watching the bus lights flash and shadow on black asphalt, I felt like the world was open to me somehow and thinking about revealing its secrets.

NaNoWriMo Update: Total No. of Words - 12,697

That's a total of 40 pages so far.

This week has been tough. I've been stomping my feet and talking about how my novel is crap. Last week's disappointment keeps showing up and getting in my face (I'm alternating between anger and lots of pain). Work has become politically annoying.

Today I got home and felt like throwing things around. A writer needs a notebook or something to take quick notes on and even though I have a basket full of mostly blank books I was incapable of making a decision as to which notebook to use. I started to cry from the frustration, but boiled some water for tea and decided to go back to my old habit of taking notes on three-by-five cards. Problem solved.

According to "No Plot, No Problem," the NaNoWriMo website and the emails I keep getting from these folks, feeling like your novel is crap during week two is very common. It's also common to feel like your story has no focus and that your characters are as two dimensional as cardboard. And I guess most people quit during week two.

I finally sat my butt down on the chair with some fresh tea and opened my novel. I started out by reading it, you're not supposed to read it because it will only depress you, but I did anyway. Then I began filling in some back story and fleshed out some of the scenes which adds to the word count. As I read it, it didn't seem all that terrible. What seems pedestrian turned out to be a skeletal draft: the crucial bones are there, but the possibilities are endless.

I picked up at the end and wrote on. The story unfolded easily, almost languidly. I was surprised at the turn of the events even if the basic outline of the story is known to me. Things are starting to come together.

I'm feeling all right. Good even. Even in my pain and loneliness, I was able to crank out over 2,500 words tonight and none of those words were filler. The story actually moved along and now there's some real character development happening. Best of all, I don't really know how this is going to end. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.

NaNoWriMo Update: Total No. of Words - 10,004

I've made some progress, thank goodness. Today I wrote a total of 23.5 pages. There are many things to blog about, but since I spent the entire day writing it's going to have to wait. The target for the first week is 11,669 words. I'm hoping to surpass that tomorrow and Tuesday so I'll have a built in buffer if the going gets tough during weeks 3 and 4.

Since my Palm and Mac are finally talking to each other, I'm planning on attending some of the many writing gatherings that are going on here in SF next week.

The more I thought about the previous excerpt, the more mortified I felt, but then I decided that crappy posts of my first draft shouldn't deter me from posting more of them. What the hell. I gotta get some fruits from this labor, right?

***

Outside the snow was magical. Paul was feeling thankful about Stiggs and Annabelle, but bittersweet. He felt he would never find a wife of his own. He quickly put those thoughts out of his head since they made him sad.

Ahead of him, Kasper walked lightly on the ground. They were climbing a slight rise that Paul knew would give them a nice overview of the gardens and the hedge maze. The wind blew gently around them sending the snowflakes into white swirls. They reached the top of the rise and looked out together. All over the garden were the quiet drifts of snow. Snow formed as clumps on the naked trees. The tops of the hedge maze were crowned with white. All around them were the gentle rolls hills of the estate and all the “rooms” each section of the garden represented (note to self: elaborate on the “rooms”). Just beyond the hedge maze, they could see the small bridge and frozen little river that Joseph had drowned in.

Paul glanced at Kasper who was blissfully unaware. He looked peaceful and happy. Paul watched the swirls of snow blanket Kasper’s curls and then looked out at the view once more.

NaNoWriMo Update - Total No. Words Written: 2,500

There's a story in here about how I was thwarted at every turn from starting this novel, but I'm back and things are up and running again. I'll relay the story in the next day or two. I wasn't going to post an excerpt, but I posted one on the NaNoWriMo website and I'm surprised at how good it felt. Keep in mind this is a very first, rough, dump draft and is in dire need of editing. With that warning, here it is:

A Lament for KP (the title will change later)

“Hey! Hey!” both men heard a familiar voice. Joseph was running into the stable, out of breath.

“Where’ve you been, anyway?” asked Paul. He couldn’t help but smile for Joseph was grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ve been in the house. The main house, Paul, and I saw him,” he said grinning even wider.

“What?” Paul stopped smiling.

“I saw ‘em Paul. The mysterious boy, in the flesh. He caught a glimpse of me and smiled,” said Joseph, relishing the looks on their faces.

“You did not! You’re just bragging! You didn’t see him at all,” said Stiggs.

“What did he look like? How tall is he?” asked Paul. Earlier he had told himself he didn't really care about this guest. His lordship had many distinguished guests and this one was the same as the others.

“He’s about you’re height, Paul. Brownish curly hair, like mine. Blue, blue eyes. He’s a little fragile looking, but dressed very fine. He has big eyes,” Joseph folded his arms across his chest and smiled. He was very satisfied.

“Excuse me,” said a soft, cultured voice. All three young men turned to look. Joseph stared and then quickly bowed. Paul and Stiggs bowed too.

The young man, undoubtly the man Joseph saw, ignored their bows and walked towards them. Although Joseph had said the mysterious boy’s eyes were blue, they were unlike any blue he had ever seen. They were the color of the bluest sky in the summer, clear and open. His clothes were made of the finest materials, very ornate. Paul watched as the boy stepped thoughtlessly into the muddy parts of the stable, apparently not caring that his very fine shoes would be ruined.

“I want to see the horses,” the man said simply. He looked them expectantly.

“Of course, Sir. Of course you may see the horses. Would you like to see one in particular?” Stiggs took over since the stable was his domain. The young man linked his arm in Stiggs and led him down the stable. Stiggs stiffened and then relaxed. They stopped in front of Thunderbolt, his lordship’s prize horse. Paul watched Stiggs answer the young man’s questions. He slowly went back to brushing the mare in front of him. Joseph nodded to him and then went back to the main house.

Paul continued to work. He could hear Stiggs talking to the young man and he felt envious. He peeked at them. They had moved on to another horse, and were absorbed in conversation. Paul turned back to his work. A little later, he took another peek and this time the young man glanced at him. He and Stiggs were coming down the stable row, arms still locked. The young man had looked back at Paul in open curiosity. Paul started sweeping the mare’s stable when the young man stopped in front of him. He unlinked his arm from Stiggs’ and openly stared at Paul.

“Can I help you, Sir?” asked Paul. He glanced quickly at Stiggs. The young man did not reply, but continued to look at Paul. Paul stood steady and openly met his stare. He waited.

“What’s your name?”

“Paul Winslow, Sir.”

“My name is Kasper Hauser. Do you know who I am?”

A Little More Than Two Hours to Go...

Okay. NaNoWriMo starts in a couple of hours and my nerves are shot. I don't know why I feel like jumping out of my skin. Probably because I sent an email en masse to a bunch of my good friends and family telling them that, yes, I am writing a novel in a month and, even more surprising, I actually have a blog and a body of work under my belt.

Many of my friends know about my blog and so do some members of my family. Almost nobody knows that I have written a novel before and have something on the order of 10 (ten) short stories that have already been written. All of them are in rough draft form. None of them have been read by anybody except my ex (he read only one because he was convinced it was about him) and a very dear friend of mine because I gave it to him for his birthday (my first complete short story, by the way).

I'm a writer, people. A real writer, and I'm coming out of the closet.

Preparations have begun. I've been steadily reading "No Plot, No Problem" by Chris Baty, Founder of NaNoWriMo and just bought myself a new PDA which will sync to my Mac (this was the perfect excuse to spend the money). I have not made the all important shopping trip. I'm considering doing that right after I finish this post.

What I like about NaNoWriMo is there's a whole lot of support. Write-ins and weekly writing meetings have been set up here in my hometown. There's even a first minute write-in not to far from where I live. I think I'm going to have to pass on that one, I'm still setting up my PDA.

Less than two hours to go. I'll need to shake my booty to Black Eyed Peas, take the dog for a walk and consider running to the grocery store before everything starts.

(Miss Turtle takes a deep breath....)