(no subject)
Just finished another book by Maeve Binchy. This one about families and how weirdly we communicate within them -- the private language that develops, the way each of us learns some ways to manipulate others in the family into giving in when we really need them to, and the ways in which each of us has blind spots that we habitually fall into with one another.
She was writing about British and Irish families during and just after the Second World War, but I kept seeing my own family on the page, either as "wow, just like us" or as "just the opposite of us".
Watching, through her characters, the ways in which my childhood demand for "total honesty" makes it hard for me to be "tactful" or even to choose the right time to talk about something important. This is far worse inside the family than it is with other folks, probably because of another childhood demand about "my family always does things my way" ... but it can be ludicrous to watch if I can just get even a little altitude on my own behavior. Sheesh!
Today I've actually written a little bit on the Painter novel, and I'm beginning to see where the next developments will be. Interesting to notice that it took 85 pages of first draft to produce a male character, though there are women present of four generations. Odd to discover that the best of it is being written _without_ the conscious "planning" function of my thought process. The only part that drags is the part I wrote "intentionally". Weird.
Lots to be grateful for this week -- friends whose children are recovering nicely, friends whose children have at least received a diagnostic workup that looks promising, friends whose aging-body challenges are being treated with some success. Enough young muscular members of the next two generations so that the basement cleanup can actually happen, heavy sleeper couch and all.
Love and light and lots of laughter to you all
...
She was writing about British and Irish families during and just after the Second World War, but I kept seeing my own family on the page, either as "wow, just like us" or as "just the opposite of us".
Watching, through her characters, the ways in which my childhood demand for "total honesty" makes it hard for me to be "tactful" or even to choose the right time to talk about something important. This is far worse inside the family than it is with other folks, probably because of another childhood demand about "my family always does things my way" ... but it can be ludicrous to watch if I can just get even a little altitude on my own behavior. Sheesh!
Today I've actually written a little bit on the Painter novel, and I'm beginning to see where the next developments will be. Interesting to notice that it took 85 pages of first draft to produce a male character, though there are women present of four generations. Odd to discover that the best of it is being written _without_ the conscious "planning" function of my thought process. The only part that drags is the part I wrote "intentionally". Weird.
Lots to be grateful for this week -- friends whose children are recovering nicely, friends whose children have at least received a diagnostic workup that looks promising, friends whose aging-body challenges are being treated with some success. Enough young muscular members of the next two generations so that the basement cleanup can actually happen, heavy sleeper couch and all.
Love and light and lots of laughter to you all
...