I have been playing around with this ship in a bottle idea ever since I had a good look at the Professor’s office. I really want a real ship in a bottle. I think I’m going to get the boys a kit for Christmas.
I also painted one with a kraken inside, but I want to work on that idea a little more.
Oh time. I said yesterday I wish there were two of me. I wake up with clear picture of description in my head, or a piece of dialogue. I have to write it all down or it gets lost. Or the dreaded note gets jotted that I can’t put into flowing prose later for the life of me. Beau has been very patient, allowing me to let my whims take over, and the house turn into a complete disaster. But usually there is another voice, other than the one in my head, that calls out and says, “Mama! I need you!” and I am downstairs and taking care of whatever whims these other little people in my life demand in a yawning flash.
It is a very shattered and discombobulated way to live. But oddly, when I tell people about my endeavors, a common response is:
“I wish I had that kind of time.”
I wish I did too! The fact is I choose what I want to do with my time. If I want to watch tv or browse the internet or shop or cook or clean…haha…I don’t have time to write or paint.
Art requires discipline. Most days I trudge through this magical malaise like a slug on a cactus. There is never enough time! And the days where there IS enough time are the days I’d much rather take a nap. Or procrastinate.
Like eight hours of Anne of Green Gables with my own “Raspberry Cordial” (it was really blueberry syrup in white wine).
Over the last couple of days I was PLUNGED into Stephen King’s On Writing. I could not eat, move, help, or talk. I could not put that thing down. The strange thing is that I am not usually one for memoir or for instructional manuals in general. But he has mastered the craft to such an extent that he could be writing about doing laundry and I am entranced. (He actually DOES talk about doing laundry in the book. And yes. I WAS entranced.)
I also had fillings yesterday.
And wrote 2,000 words.
And the dryer broke. (speaking of laundry)
So now I have so many household responsibilities to do I feel like I am in a tossed up sea of my own bottled volition. We all do this to ourselves in some way or another, don’t we?
But I don’t really, truly mind. I could make my life a halcyon sea by quitting. But where’s the art in that?
Hence, the painting.