Tonight I am panicking too much to write about anything other than my panic. I am re-auditioning to stay on the roster of a choral group I used to sing with about five years ago. I have been dwelling on it for six weeks or so, ever since it was scheduled. It’s been strangely draining just to think about it, that kind of deep seated stress that affects everything else, leading to a big fat crying jag on Thursday that took me out of my show that night. Neat.

It’s odd. I haven’t sung since I left the group, except for some caroling gigs. But I’ve been working on my piece and despite the hiatus, I feel I’m vocally almost stronger than I was when I was last part of the group. How weird is that? But I’m still just scared that I won’t quite be good enough. I don’t know how I’ve managed to build this up so much in my mind, but there it is. I swear, these ten minutes are looming larger than a new job, my wedding, or any of a host of other actually important things.

At least it will be over tomorrow, and then I can rest more easily. I have actually been practicing for once, so it is as good as it is going to get. Right? Right?

Ugh. Save me.

What else? Let’s see. I’m back in the middle of scarf-knitting. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough other projects going on. But this one is a present for my dad, so it’s a good cause.

I taught a bellydance workshop at a sorority meeting tonight. I had forty-five minutes to get thirty girls “up to speed” on shimmys, piston hips, lifts and drops, and some snaky arms. It sounds like the set up for a really bad movie, doesn’t it??

Once again I find myself trying to do this after midnight on a “school night,” so once again, you’re basically getting a blog entry. Sorry. I think it’s high time I posted some of my responses to this exercise I’m doing, and this seemed like a good opportunity. Here are a few of my observations…

1. Writing every day is really hard. Especially on the weekends. For some reason, I can’t get myself to sit down in the middle of the day and do this. It’s always at the end, when I’ve sucked up all the free time doing other things.
2. I find writing fiction scarier than writing about my everyday life. That surprised me a bit at first, but it makes sense the more I think about it. I am fairly open about my life, my thoughts, my insecurities. i am a thinker and a worrier and I’ve put hours into making myself more communicative, so that comes more and more easily. Fiction, however, is a window from the cold, analytical word directly into my imagination. And that feels much more vulnerable. It’s not about what happens to me. It is the stories I tell to myself when I’m idle. It’s a much deeper form of self-expression from my perspective.
3. I have a problem making characters act. They’re in constant danger of thinking themselves in circles for pages on end without so much as getting a fork from plate to mouth. Art imitating life? Quite possibly.
4. I like writing humor or mystery. I don’t like writing dramatic pieces. I keep bypassing writing exercises that would require me to get heavy. I don’t like making my characters cry. They can be scared or insecure or mad or hurt, but I hate reducing them to tears.
5. I have an over-affection for stingers. I run the risk of being one of those Dan Brown-esque authors, who ends every chapter with an evilly dramatic hook. While it does keep you reading untill three AM, by one you’re really sick and tired of being unable to find a stopping point.
6. It is nerve-wracking to know that people are out there reading these exercises, but saying nothing. Now yes, there’s no reason they should have to. But it makes me understand the abject terror with which other writers I know wait for that initial contest, editorial, or commercial feedback.

That’s it for tonight. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll get back to the writing. For now, sweet dreams!

Another late night means I’m going to excuse myself and just blog for my 301. I danced at Carousel Caravan tonight, which was a big deal to me. I’ve always thought of it as the one locale in town reserved for “real” dancers, with a clientele outside of other venues (even though most of it is boozy bar partrons, but hey). So it felt like a rite of bellydance passage for me.

The Carousel Lounge is an amazing place. If you have never been there, it’s a dive bar just off of the highway. The teensy strip of parking spaces fronts a building that is painted with a mural of free-form circus performers. My favorite are the twin fire-eaters in glitzy fringed red bras with flowers in their hair. When you walk in, there’s a jukebox and vinyl booths across from a large thrust-shaped bar. The room has a general patina of age, that indescribable grubbiness that you get in a well-loved public place. It’s not dirt, it’s just use.

The bar is beer, wine, and setups only, but there’s a liquor store next door. You’ll see everyone from sorority girls to workmen holed up at booths with a giant bottle of whiskey on the table and a few sodas sitting around. There’s a miniature carousel smack in the middle of the area behind the bar, decorated with silver tinsel and twinkle lights.

At the far end of the long, rectangular room is a landing strip shaped dance floor, which is presided over by a giant pink paper-mache elephant. Above him hang giant copper-colored tassles. The walls around him is adorned with another mural, this one inside the big top, with a wonky looking ringmaster and various animals.

Dividing the room are a few VERY old video game machines. Tonight, a patron was cleaning house on Ms. Pac-Man. It was impressive to watch! The tables have candy-cane backed chairs that seem to think three legs on the ground are all you really need. The fourth one is entirely optional, and keeps you alert. Maybe it’s the sobriety test?

I love this little place, and it’s wonderfully eclectic clientele. Everyone is super friendly. If you’re looking for a slice of “old Austin”, I recommend you check it out.

Write about a less-than-remarkable aspect of your life.

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

Write about a long, fraught ride in a car.

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

Evening was the time for … [cityscape pic]

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

Imagine a coat. Imagine the pocket of the coat. Imagine what’s in that pocket.

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

Write about an ordinary ritual in which something goes terribly wrong.

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

What is the longest time you ever waited for someone or something? Why did you wait?

*****

Read the rest of this entry »

I really meant blog entries to be the exception to the 301 rule, not the norm. and I’m still qualifying this as exercise #12, because I haven’t been to bed yet, dammit.

This was another night of juxtaposition for me. I danced at Artopium with my troupe this evening. It was wonderful — the weather was perfect and it was a great group of people So we danced outside in the fresh air, and there was a breeze that blew the veils all around so they danced as much as the women wielding them. And Kelly pulled rugs and pillows up to the very edge of the dancing space and encouraged the whole crowd to come to the front to be a part of the dancing. It was such an appreciative audience, and I loved dancing so close to them. The energy was phenomenal. I did a full-on 7-minute drum solo and didn’t appear to lose anyone, so I’ll call it a success.

The juxtaposition came with my other major project today. Okay, well, two major projects. Firstly, I finally finished the damned curtains. They’re officially hemmed and hanging in the dining room! YAY!

Second, Stv’s hard drive went kablooie today. As in, won’t boot. So we made a mad scramble to Fry’s to get an external HDD case, a new hard drive for his laptop, and a back up HDD which we should have bought a long time ago but never did. So now we’re stuck trying to figure out how to get the data off his old disk if at all possible. So far we haven’t had any luck getting a computer to register the disk’s existence. Uh-oh.

So anyway, I’ve spent the last, oh, three and a half hours after my show and some food installing and formatting his new hard drive and getting some basic software up and running. Stv has managed to lose his Windows install disks, so for now I have him running Ubuntu, which is a Linux-based open source OS. I’m not that great with Linux, but I managed, and I’m pretty proud. However, watching me figure out how to get software onto the machine has rendered Stv afraid to touch it, I think…