Oh the triumph...
...for it has been revealed, to me at least even if she doesn't realise it, that I am far more organised and efficient than my mother. Last night she admitted that she was 'one of the most organised people [she] knew'. Wow, I've been fooled for so long. What I was taking for pure inefficiency has actually been the result of poor organisation. I'm ashamed I didn't realise this cause-and-effect. I feel like preening.
We actually had a conversation last night. Scary stuff. of course, it took me initiating it randomly with 'What's your favourite book?', and some mental coaxing on the questions thereafter for her to ask me in kind, but there you have it. We got onto writing, and I learn for the first time that screenwriting is in fact what she's always wanted to do as a career, and that was part of her degree, not just journalism, I deduce. This just pinpoints the health of our relationship - I'm only just finding out these things.
Conversation then slides onto her lecturing me about first the screenwriting world and then the general publishing world - me, hello. I can kinda grant her the screenwriting thing, 'cus that's the least familiar to me, but wait, I'm the one doing a BA in Creative Writing. Kinda irritating but I kept my mouth shut - often disregarded me when I tried to say anything anyway. A quote from I, Lucifer comes to mind, about archangel Michael: 'He's never quite grasped that conversation isn't actually the other person making some unattended-to noises while you think of the next bit of your monologue.'
What rather riled me for its emotional-blackmail-ness (and what began a subsequent moan-fest of hers) was the revelation that she's actually resentful of Barrie (our friend back in South Carolina, who's now writing a cathartic book on the ordeal she faced surrounding her second husband's suicide), and moreover me, for being able to partake in the writing life. For having the time, the energy, the ideas, and I guess at me for being able to actually go off and study it in such a brilliant place. Gee, makes me feel somewhat guilty for ever wanting to write in her presence again, and I hate feeling that way about what has become my life and my purest ambition. How dare she try to undermine my confidence, efficiency and devotion with her blackmail. I can't fault her for her feelings but why was it so necessary to tell me?
Anyhow, after that like I said it turned into a moan-fest (which she apologised for later but nonetheless). It's frustrating for me because whatever I said ended up being over-ridden by her negativity, and whatever I thought about proffering I knew would be shot down as naivity. Psh, hey, what do I know about persevering through times of difficulty, huh? Nothing at all I guess. To be honest I felt like telling her to shut the fuck up and get her act together. Yes, I know life has been especially cruel to her for quite a long stretch, but what annoys me the most is that she understands that you just have to persevere, and understands how she isn't helping matters, and yet she STILL hijacks herself, with inefficiency, poor organisation and downright demoralising negativity and cynicism. I just don't understand. Perhaps this is finally my recognition of how my mother really is, or how she's been changed. She's definitely not the sort of dogged woman I thought her to be. Petty, weak-willed, counter-productive, who has dug herself into a hole and now, almost literally, has to lie in it.
And cumulatively, after we'd gone to bed and well into this morning (subconsciously, as I've been writing), I can't decide what to do about her. Is it even worth helping her, when she is more than capable of changing her attitude and helping herself as of yet? I don't think I want to be dragged down with her. I pity her, I really do, not sympathise - she's practically eliminated all chances of sympathy or empathy from me.
I admit, perhaps this is because I am of course younger and maybe not as aware of the extremity of the heat life can put you in. But damn does it strike me that surely I can do better than my predecessors, better than her in such situations. And yes, I realise that no one can ever know the true extent of the demoralising news of cancer, no matter how articulate she tries to be in communicating it. I guess I'm just disappointed that she, like my father, has not turned out to be the role model I anticipated, even if I wanted to reject the model. There's nothing to reject here. Just something to demonstrate what not to do.
*le sigh*
Anyways! I finished reading Andrew Collins' From The Ashes of Angels. I can't recall if I've talked about it before. Morgaine warned me that some bits were a bit questionnable, and I see what she meant. Some of the conclusions he jumped to seemed a bit unfounded and far-fetched, though his research was admittedly extensive. When the last chapter or so switched to the notion of an Egyptian 'elder-culture' I felt a bit cheated. Interesting reading though, I'll grant, and I have a short story idea out of it. Oh, and I noticed a slip-up when he maintained at one point that the sun rose in the west, just to support a point. Ha. Fired the imagination, then, if anything.
One thing I'd like to know, though, is around what point did angels either acquire gender or switch gender, and when did the Cherubim become the sickeningly cute subjects of Christmas cards and interior motifs? For the former, I'm aware of the patriarchal nature of most monotheistic religions and how that's been an influence, but precise dates? And to the latter - was it a Victorian thing? Why? Who first? Hmm, must ask Morgaine. Anyhow, now I've moved on to another book Morgaine loaned me - Heaven Sent - an anthology of angel-orientated short stories. Started reading this morning in bed while I waited for Mom to leave.
Otherwise, ever since I've been back from camping I've been writing more on EoF. Rhea's just wandered around in nothing but underwear and a T-shirt (her idea, not mine), she and Nitrus are being taken to Lady Riseonei, and Kione has offered for Chael to stay with her and be her apprentice (she's a tailor). But, significantly, I've changed some crucial aspects of the characters around. For example, though it pained me a little, Rhea is now not as special as she was - it made more sense for Kione, with her small amount of psychic intuition, to have been brought up in Ceaclist instead of Rea; and two, the Mark of the Unforgiven is now going to be given to Psyd for reasons secret, though it will be re-designed so Rhea can still have a tattoo of the original mark's design. (Did that make sense?) That was the most critical development, I have to say.
But I also know now that, due to psychological and somatic development that needs to take place, children aren't chipped until age five. And I'll be linking Shcreidon's minion-'ravens' to the 'Valkyries' (need to think of or find a more appropriate name) - the 'ravens' can detect portals into the Infernal domain / Void and communicate with the 'shadowed things' and, later, the Infernals, but now they can't actually open those gateways. Instead, the 'Valkyries', rebellious as they are, will be the only ones able to do this, though they still 'guard all borders'. However, I might decide to combine the two creatures - allow them some shapeshifting, in other words, with those abilities confined to each form.
So it's all fun and games. Soon, Lynx will come into the mix, and I'm all excited. Otherwise...wrote a couple of poems, but I still don't feel poetic. I suppose that's the trade - I can't be prosaic and poetic simultaneously without the result being pretty but deplorable.
I tell you one odd thing, though. I really like honey-nut Cheerios. Oh, and I'm losing weight. Yayness.
Back to writing!
~ Live beautifully. ~
~ Fade out. ~
We actually had a conversation last night. Scary stuff. of course, it took me initiating it randomly with 'What's your favourite book?', and some mental coaxing on the questions thereafter for her to ask me in kind, but there you have it. We got onto writing, and I learn for the first time that screenwriting is in fact what she's always wanted to do as a career, and that was part of her degree, not just journalism, I deduce. This just pinpoints the health of our relationship - I'm only just finding out these things.
Conversation then slides onto her lecturing me about first the screenwriting world and then the general publishing world - me, hello. I can kinda grant her the screenwriting thing, 'cus that's the least familiar to me, but wait, I'm the one doing a BA in Creative Writing. Kinda irritating but I kept my mouth shut - often disregarded me when I tried to say anything anyway. A quote from I, Lucifer comes to mind, about archangel Michael: 'He's never quite grasped that conversation isn't actually the other person making some unattended-to noises while you think of the next bit of your monologue.'
What rather riled me for its emotional-blackmail-ness (and what began a subsequent moan-fest of hers) was the revelation that she's actually resentful of Barrie (our friend back in South Carolina, who's now writing a cathartic book on the ordeal she faced surrounding her second husband's suicide), and moreover me, for being able to partake in the writing life. For having the time, the energy, the ideas, and I guess at me for being able to actually go off and study it in such a brilliant place. Gee, makes me feel somewhat guilty for ever wanting to write in her presence again, and I hate feeling that way about what has become my life and my purest ambition. How dare she try to undermine my confidence, efficiency and devotion with her blackmail. I can't fault her for her feelings but why was it so necessary to tell me?
Anyhow, after that like I said it turned into a moan-fest (which she apologised for later but nonetheless). It's frustrating for me because whatever I said ended up being over-ridden by her negativity, and whatever I thought about proffering I knew would be shot down as naivity. Psh, hey, what do I know about persevering through times of difficulty, huh? Nothing at all I guess. To be honest I felt like telling her to shut the fuck up and get her act together. Yes, I know life has been especially cruel to her for quite a long stretch, but what annoys me the most is that she understands that you just have to persevere, and understands how she isn't helping matters, and yet she STILL hijacks herself, with inefficiency, poor organisation and downright demoralising negativity and cynicism. I just don't understand. Perhaps this is finally my recognition of how my mother really is, or how she's been changed. She's definitely not the sort of dogged woman I thought her to be. Petty, weak-willed, counter-productive, who has dug herself into a hole and now, almost literally, has to lie in it.
And cumulatively, after we'd gone to bed and well into this morning (subconsciously, as I've been writing), I can't decide what to do about her. Is it even worth helping her, when she is more than capable of changing her attitude and helping herself as of yet? I don't think I want to be dragged down with her. I pity her, I really do, not sympathise - she's practically eliminated all chances of sympathy or empathy from me.
I admit, perhaps this is because I am of course younger and maybe not as aware of the extremity of the heat life can put you in. But damn does it strike me that surely I can do better than my predecessors, better than her in such situations. And yes, I realise that no one can ever know the true extent of the demoralising news of cancer, no matter how articulate she tries to be in communicating it. I guess I'm just disappointed that she, like my father, has not turned out to be the role model I anticipated, even if I wanted to reject the model. There's nothing to reject here. Just something to demonstrate what not to do.
*le sigh*
Anyways! I finished reading Andrew Collins' From The Ashes of Angels. I can't recall if I've talked about it before. Morgaine warned me that some bits were a bit questionnable, and I see what she meant. Some of the conclusions he jumped to seemed a bit unfounded and far-fetched, though his research was admittedly extensive. When the last chapter or so switched to the notion of an Egyptian 'elder-culture' I felt a bit cheated. Interesting reading though, I'll grant, and I have a short story idea out of it. Oh, and I noticed a slip-up when he maintained at one point that the sun rose in the west, just to support a point. Ha. Fired the imagination, then, if anything.
One thing I'd like to know, though, is around what point did angels either acquire gender or switch gender, and when did the Cherubim become the sickeningly cute subjects of Christmas cards and interior motifs? For the former, I'm aware of the patriarchal nature of most monotheistic religions and how that's been an influence, but precise dates? And to the latter - was it a Victorian thing? Why? Who first? Hmm, must ask Morgaine. Anyhow, now I've moved on to another book Morgaine loaned me - Heaven Sent - an anthology of angel-orientated short stories. Started reading this morning in bed while I waited for Mom to leave.
Otherwise, ever since I've been back from camping I've been writing more on EoF. Rhea's just wandered around in nothing but underwear and a T-shirt (her idea, not mine), she and Nitrus are being taken to Lady Riseonei, and Kione has offered for Chael to stay with her and be her apprentice (she's a tailor). But, significantly, I've changed some crucial aspects of the characters around. For example, though it pained me a little, Rhea is now not as special as she was - it made more sense for Kione, with her small amount of psychic intuition, to have been brought up in Ceaclist instead of Rea; and two, the Mark of the Unforgiven is now going to be given to Psyd for reasons secret, though it will be re-designed so Rhea can still have a tattoo of the original mark's design. (Did that make sense?) That was the most critical development, I have to say.
But I also know now that, due to psychological and somatic development that needs to take place, children aren't chipped until age five. And I'll be linking Shcreidon's minion-'ravens' to the 'Valkyries' (need to think of or find a more appropriate name) - the 'ravens' can detect portals into the Infernal domain / Void and communicate with the 'shadowed things' and, later, the Infernals, but now they can't actually open those gateways. Instead, the 'Valkyries', rebellious as they are, will be the only ones able to do this, though they still 'guard all borders'. However, I might decide to combine the two creatures - allow them some shapeshifting, in other words, with those abilities confined to each form.
So it's all fun and games. Soon, Lynx will come into the mix, and I'm all excited. Otherwise...wrote a couple of poems, but I still don't feel poetic. I suppose that's the trade - I can't be prosaic and poetic simultaneously without the result being pretty but deplorable.
I tell you one odd thing, though. I really like honey-nut Cheerios. Oh, and I'm losing weight. Yayness.
Back to writing!
~ Live beautifully. ~
~ Fade out. ~