Doubts.

My follow through is very poor. I have had this epiphany, you see. I get praise from my teachers for the bits and scenes I hand in as the answers to writing exercises, and if I do say so myself, they are pretty good. But it all seems to fall apart when I try to make something longer. Like, say, a plot. I can make characters. Description that blends in naturally and logically- what I mean is, there isn't really any; I just tell people what they need to know, and nothing they don't need to know. Dialogue? No problem.
But then something needs to happen. The characters need to change somehow. Grow. Fight. Why can't I do that? It makes me feel so short sighted and makes me wonder if I have some fundamental character flaw that stops me being able to imagine these complex interactions and their outcomes. Or I can think of just enough action to sustain a scene, but I can't hook them up together. Is my brain as tiny as it's beginning to feel?
Am I the only one with this problem?
Am I the only one reading this blog?

Plugging Along.

Ha! Fooled you. No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have survived a whole year since we lost our boy.
The writing class. Well, my first impression is that the teacher is drinking heavily, or not getting enough sleep, or something. She doesn't proofread, that's for certain. The missing words and punctuation and the fact that she tends to wander off and not finish her sentences make her entries hard to follow.
All the same, her comments on the first week's assignment were useful. The ending was cheap. She was right. But the comments on the second assignment ranged from 'it was great' to 'this is why it was great.' A good start, but it doesn't give me anything to work with.
I feel so stuck! As if all my writing reaches exactly the same level of development and sophistication and then stops. All of the students and teachers and critique groups don't seem to be able to help me. The inexperienced among them give strange or even contradictory advice (one says 'cut this bit; it's irrelevent,' and another says 'this bit's important; expand on it!') or worse yet just say 'it's perfect, I don't see anything wrong with it.' The more experienced also see where the weak spots are, but can't seem to offer any advice on how to fix it. At first I was excited that we were finally going to have a SCBWI meeting (after nearly THREE YEARS as a member) but I'm not sure how good the turnout will be. Still, I will make the most of it.

Long, long winter.

There has been snow and ice around since October. This is pretty rare. I think the birds are suffering. I think I'm suffering too. I am putting a lot of energy into struggling with the schools. the Evil Boy still hits my daughter. Today he poked her with a pencil in the thigh and it looks like the tip broke off. The teacher has decided that on Friday we will have another "talk."

I hate this. I hate the implication that my daughter in any way shares the responsibility for what is happening. She avoids him, tries not to look at him, and has trained herself not to react when he pokes and hits her. And still "let's talk about it." No, let's get this boy some real parents!

Ok, end of rant.

So, in order to combat stress and spring boredom, I have signed up for a class in children's writing with Gotham for this spring. Wish me luck.

A lack of punctation.

Will I ever get my period again, I wonder? We complain so much about them when they are here, but we miss them when they are gone. Periods help us punctuate, divide up and file bits of time. My temporal memory was always bizarre and cloudy, but now it's worse. No system to it at all. And since I don't seem to be ovulating, that means no baby, and then what? I have this mass of time stretching out ahead of me with no periods, commas or exclamation points.

And absolutely no belief in myself that I will ever accomplish anything. I'm floundering, as you see...

still empty.

I think boredom is probably just about the most dangerous thing in the universe. And I'm soooooooooooooooooo bored. I get fantasies about pulling up the floorboards just for the heck of it. And my brain says pick a direction, any direction.

I didn't go the the memorial service. I went to the Kunstmuseum instead. We saw Ego Documents. Do egos die if you don't take care of them, I wonder?

What Next

I was hoping to post at least once a month, but I'm not quite making it. Sometimes, there just doesn't seem to be anything to add. I haven't been writing much, and my drawings in protrait class are all wrong. I don't know why. Well, surely, lack of practice. But in spite of a great teacher, I just don't seem to be getting anywhere, which is frustrating. Imparo anche Italiano. Or maybe Anche imparo Italiano. Anyway, I am learning Italian, which is fun. But what? I still spend a large part of my day wading through a house full of stuff which has nothing to do with me, and I resent. I don't resent the ironing or the laundry or the shopping. I resent having to play policeman to the mess, too. "Please pick that up. Please don't leave that in the floor. Put them away, don't just shove them in a drawer." Don't become a full time housewife. Just don't. Fight for your life against it. I have never experienced anything more damaging to my sense of self worth.

And children? Babies? There is a service at the Heiliggeist Church in Bern for all people like me who have lost a child they haven't even met yet. I cannot decide if it would be a good thing to go or not.

But.
If I ever get pregnant again, I will buy my prenatel vitamins one pill at a time, and I won't tell anybody but my gynecologist that I'm pregnant until I'm in labor.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Well, I've become all but invisible here. When I signed up for 3 courses, it seemed a good idea to keep busy. I'm not sorry I did it; I have written some interesting things, drawn some interesting models, and learned some interesting grammatical idiocincrasies of italian.

And the rest of it? I'm no closer to believing I am a writer, or an artist. Why is this so hard? I do things I think are pretty good, but somehow they don't count. What does it take to get over this and just DO. (Forget the Nike commercial; in real life there are loads of people out there, including ourselves, waiting to heckle us like Waldorf and Stettler when we fail.) Yes, I will keep doing it anyway. But why so erratic? I feel like a giant factory machine, responsible for three different jobs. Quick! Fill this bin! It's important! Hurry hurry hurry! Oh, now that one is nearly empty! Quick quick quick! Throw three kids into this, and I wind up jacking all trades, mastering none... I need a cheerleading section. How sad is that. *sigh*

So, here's a tidbit I wrote as an exercise for the class. Creepy creepy:

He dipped his hands into the lake. It was undisturbed and pure- this far north there was little pollution. And it was ice cold, which was good. Ice also had a purity about it. The lake was still obsidian smooth, this early. He made out a sliver of paleness further along the shore; a night heron, standing like a statue, unseen by it's prey. He understood the night herons. His fingers were stiff and red when he took them out of the lake. He fumbled with the oarlocks. As cold as the water was, the lake was clearly warmer than the air; the mist over it was suspended, unable to rise any further. There were depths to the lake never touched by ice or sun. Nearly bottomless. Bottomless enough.
He rowed the boat out. The bottom of the boat was full, with the fishing rod on top, between his feet. Perhaps he would even fish. He heard a splash and looked to see the heron, long bill in the air like a church spire, swallowing it's prey. Good for you. He pushed his brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at the heron before rowing on.

Anyway, just for the record, I'm back to being pissed. Really, really, angry. My kids are still angry. A week or so ago my youngest daughter asked if God killed the baby. What do you say? Then she asked (not kidding here, she really said this) "Is it your fault the baby died?" She's little. She really just wanted to know. She had no idea how much that question hurt. I just said "No, these things just happen sometimes." Well, I can hardly be surprised that she's not satisfied with this answer if I'm not.