
Lately that I’ve been often surprised by the decency of people. Which should really be the other way around. How cynical have I become that I’m shocked when another shows good sense, compassion, or understanding? (Of course, I’m never shocked when my friends do because they are all so friggin fabulous).
I have stayed away from writing about my week at the end of August where a bunch of things became really clear to me… and I’m not going to start now except to say that one of the things I realized is the need to reconstruct some of who I am around my next phase as opposed to who I used to be. And because I am intensely social, that involves other people. Thus, if I am going to really write, I need to find myself a circle of other writers with whom to hang once and awhile. A regular writer’s circle, perhaps.
In Victoria I have friends who seriously write or are immersed in books in a professional way, and have realized what a pleasure that is, to be able to talk about writing and art with other people invested in it. But since I’m not moving back anytime soon (sometime, but not for at least a couple of years), I’ve decided that I need to find my way into a circle here. First, because I need active critique on an ongoing basis if I am to keep improving my work. And second, because I would like to find myself reading publicly at some point in the not so distant future. I haven’t done that in over a decade (playing my own music live replaced that) and with a little feedback and tightening of my work I’m pretty sure I’ll be in a place of sharing again.
So I’m putting it out there. I want to find or form a writer’s circle in East Van. This is not the only way I’m going about it, but I might as well make my intentions clear since this blog is read by a diverse group of localites from what I can tell. Let me know by way of comment or email if you are at all interested, or know of something that already exists.
“it is clear she… knew already the lovely contradictory nature of glass and she did not have to be told, on the day she saw the works at Darling Harbour, that glass is a thing in disguise, an actor, is not solid at all, but a liquid, that an old sheet of glass will not only take on a royal and purplish tinge but will reveal its true liquid nature by having grown fatter at the bottom and thinner at the top, and that even while it is as frail as the ice on a Parramatta puddle, it is stronger under compression than Sydney sandstone, that it is invisible, solid, in short, a joyous and paradoxical thing, as good a material as any to build a life from.”
Peter Carey, Oscar and Lucinda
Now that I’ve got my camera back, I’m hoping to actually get some moments to take photos this weekend. And a bit of time for writing too. It’s just been one of those weeks where I haven’t had much time without lots to do.
I’m going to withhold writing in this space until I have something worthwhile to put here besides updates on how busy I am.
If I only told half the stories that have unfolded in the last five days in any detail then this would be a 3000 word post. But I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’m sticking with a bullet-point update.
Yeah. So that’s the “short” version of what’s going on in my life (and my head) this morning. No wonder I feel a bit tired I guess. It’s kindof a lot to absorb at once.