Nervous jitters

It’s Christmas time, that time of the year that occurs every single year and somehow manages to stress the must out of people, especially females. There’s cleaning and presents and baking and taking care of elderly relatives, there’s all sorts of festivities and…

 

people taking an awful lot of time replying to email.

 

… then there’s decorating, and packing presents after procuring them somehow, there’s humming those Christmas carols over and over again, there’s plans for New Year’s Eve being made, there’s the last of the stress at school and…

 

a strange sensation of curiosity.

 

… then somehow the hours of the day run out, running around, doing doing doing things!

Whoah, have I been productive! I mean, seriously. This week alone – and it’s only Tuesday! – I’ve painted over 20 paintings and one of them huge, I’ve baked stuff and bought stuff and showed up at a Chirstmas party.

So what have I been up to? Well, NaNoWriMo came and went, well, and the story is still in process. I might even illustrate some of it into a sort-of-not-quite comic and post it for everyone to read.

School – university – is not hard, but it takes a lot of my attention. I study art education, but actually, at the point, painting and drawing. And boy has it been an intensive course! Before that, sculpture, avantgarde art, environmental pedagogy, photography… Well, enough for me, at least! But inspiring, and I have learnt a lot, technically and content-wise.

 

Now I have to continue baking the date cakes, so, until we meet again -

Bye!

Dear WordPress,

I believe your new interface is very suckish because it’s hard to create a new post.

Now, shock amazement at you all – I write again, only like the day after yesterday!

 

First off, I had an epiphany reading this blog called  Regected Riter. I realized that if you want your work published, used or liked, it has to be expectable, and frankly, rather mediocre. In a suitably unoriginal way.

You’re probably all dreading this turning into a self-referential writer’s egotistical ramblings about how creative and indie my writing is in comparison to other’s, but rest assured – not going to. And there’s the possibility of some costume photos at the end of this post, which is cool, right?

But really, what people like in reading genre books is that they are defined on before hand. It’s what genre is about. You pick up a high fantasy book, and you’ll be darned if the big plot twist isn’t a long lost heir to the throne or a sacred/cursed item turning up to prevent the world from ending, or something else that fits into the setting. You would be traumatized if the plot twist was Carrie Bradshaw turning down a secretary job. Well, SATC would fit quite nicely into Raa-Gath’Mreth (commonly known as orclandia), but it would be dissappointing if you were expecting an epic dragon fight on Mount Chaos.  Yes.

Actually, it would be hilarious -

Which is why I prefer writing stuff like that. Well, not that ground breakingly yet still generically random, but you know, writing not the epic but the everyday epic. The struggles of the few in a world of people all creating their own stories. And, yes, all. So no wonder I get side tracked, like in the NaNoWriMo last year, writing pages (aka. word padding) about chamber maids or grooms, or the naming of a specific geographical feature of the landscape. It’s as important to me, because well, I already know the story but the world is new to me.

The average reader, again, in the world today, made a choice to read what you have written, instead of say, watching TV. I saw this lecture by TAIK professor Tapio Vapaasalo, in which he claimed that he decides whether he wants to watch something in about a quarter of a second. I think it might be true, although it’s probably around half a second of attention in my case.

“Bleh, sports. Bleh, old people talking about Carelia. Bleh, lifestyle programmes. Huh, that looks like porn. Wait, it is – skip. Bleh, talk show with that boring as hell Finnish host and Finnish guests. Bleh, SubChat. Bleh, another poorly scripted murder mystery. Bleh, a bad action movie I have seen five years ago and couldn’t bring myself to watch again.”

That’s TV entertainment for you these days. The impression must be made in the title, or in that single instant when surfing the channels. And as that is the case, it’s less probable you will watch a four hour film made by someone you never heard about and with a subject you don’t understand, as you’re afraid of being disappointed, of having wasted your time, on a movie not worth watching. Because time is money. And entertainment must be instantly gratifying these days. Except if you’re sort of forcing yourself to be more educated than you are, and watch and read and talk about slow things.

Pretty much the same applies to art on deviantArt, only more harshly. I mean,  provoking an action from an anonymous viewer is almost impossible (exclude your followers and friends). You have to be quirky, talented in a way people understand, and also submit your art at the right time. It helps if you create fan art of a popular yet under-supplied and over-demanded fandom. And even if you do all this, there’s a big risk your art will drown in the mass of cute cat photos (srsly why do people fave those?) and…

Well, anyways, just writing all this to let you know I refuse to adapt myself to the mold in my writing. Oh, I have tried. But sneaky things always sneak snake  their way into my texts, making them a bit too real for anyone’s liking, I think. And yet my inspiration doesn’t carry all the way…

Rant rant rant.

I want to take an opportunity now to thank all people who ever have read anything I’ve written and given me feedback upon it. It’s the best incentive ever to continue writing, like I haven’t.

 

Now; DOCTOR WHO.

 

I attended the Arabia Maskerad dressed as Tom Baker’s, that is the Fourth, Doctor. And it was a lot of fun. First, I had to make the scarf. And then I had to get the rest of the pieces for my costume. But as I’m in a hurry (read; state of slight hangover) I will give you the specs on the scarf-making process and the rest a bit later. Here is, though, a photo of someone looking for their sonic screwdriver.

Plannings, beginnings and endings

Something that should have been better, but was good, and could not have lasted ended. I am sad, cold, and smiling serenely.

Now that said, NaNoWriMo 2011. As we all know, the world ends in 2012, so the NaNo11 is not the last but the second last (wait what, I’m going to write in English and I can’t even get that right) time to churn out a novel in 30 days together with the rest of the world.

This year, I’m writing scifi. I have written dystopic magical realism, steampunky alternate universe, and nordic high fantasy during my three previous journeys into Nanolandia, so this time it will be space ships, blasters (well, no) and planetary missions.

In the background.

The stories themselves – hey, I’m going to try something new and unholy! – are going to be about trust, love, loneliness and growing up, about disappointment and gratitude and success. Well, quite typical themes for a young writer, I’ve been told, but still. It’s what I do. I think I do it well. But there’s the extra challenges of language and multiple stories. You see.

The title of the thing is The Distance Between Stars.

It contains different stories, of various length, out of which the longest will be called Petrol Dew and tell the story of Rust. I have it figured out… about 6%. Fuuudge… The other stories are very open. But I intend to make it contain science – like real science, astronomy and physics and snippets of strange history .- and wonderful characters. Possibly some explicit scenes, too, I feel like writing about violence and sex.

Today, then. I will be attending a masquerade as Tom Baker’s Doctor Who. I have a coat, and a vest, and a shirt and a red little scarf, plus the knitted shebang. Yes, really; over 2 m of knitted scarf! Yeah! I will perhaps post some pictures of this cosplay on deviantArt.

Until next time, toodles!

Ah! Progress, at last.

Now I have filled out the student card application, gotten my student ID, paid my taxes, filed receipts, and a bunch of other paper work-stuffs.

I feel proud.

But really, why the hell does Aalto Uni’s password service want me to make a password which a) isn’t very strong in case someone tries to hack it and b) is nearly impossible to memorize? Esqf. It makes my life harder, that is. But I came up with a solution that I *will* hopefully remember for… half a year. Ehm. Oh well.

I am writing to inform you that I’m set on getting my life back on track. It’s been off. Terribly off. I’m scanning a bunch of pictures, compiling sketch dumps and posting better stuff on dA. And I’m going to paint at some point. Yes.

Comets

Relationship.

 

The terrible feeling of drowning in self-awareness due to company of another individual, being forced into existing by the mere presence of another subject, floods into me in his company. I scream on the inside, grasping for something tangible, something outside of me, outside of him, in order to draw his attention elsewhere. Tell me about. Look at that. As his interest transfers, I become the spectator, giddy near a man who wants me. Watching him speak makes me want him, waters my mouth.

 

So aware.

 

It’s like a looming shadow of a bird of prey, circling many leagues above us and sometimes diving right in between us. It takes the breath right out of me, making me gasp and stutter. As my voice trails off he sees its traces in the corners of my eyes.  But unlike me he embraces it, he is desperate to make it last and rushes in its fleetingness. You promised, my mind accuses, and my heart forgives his lust.

 

This could be it.

 

Choose, choose, choose. Blood boiling, my brain hurts and I avert my eyes. Choose, chose, chosen. Except we haven’t, and I am not. At random, by chance. Choice? And he looks at me again, expecting, waiting, wondering and seeing yet I cannot act. Frozen, far away on an icy planet in the outer rim, alone I shout for answers but the universe is ever silent. My empty body acts on instinct. I won’t jump. I won’t take the leap of faith.

The Weight of Words

Once in a while you need words. They don’t have to be epic, splendid,ravishing or perfect; they just have to be right. Not right in an eternal perspective, but right right now.

It’s perhaps a bit like having to prove to yourself in every single picture that your vision still holds; in every hug that your friendship is firm; in every day that your life is worth living. Some people might have to show themselves that they still are fit, still can solve that Rubik’s cube or put on their make up with their left hand.

It’s about proving yourself worthy of being you. It’s one of the most fundamental aspects of being me. I hope you respect it, and listen to my words when they come, just like you’d dry my tears or laugh at a really good joke, even though I was the one to crack it.

And I will listen to you.

Daily Routines

I get up at half past six. It is light in my room, so light indeed that I’ve hidden my face behind my desk and do my best not to wake up before the alarm clock goes off.

I brush my teeth, and  dress. For breakfast I have some yoghurt with müsli and instant coffee au lait, sometimes a cheese sandwich to go with this. If I feel really yucky, I take a quick shower. Smelling of fruity schampoo, I drive to the train station at about 7.15. The train leaves at 7.26 with a reading/napping me inside.

At 7.48, the train arrives at Pasila. I get off, get up the escalator, to platform 2 or 1 and take the I or K-train. Some minutes later, yawning, I walk in at work. I get up four flights of stairs.

My key always gets stuck in the lock. Typical.

At 8.40, I and my supervisor prepare coffee and tea. After that, I print out all the emails with orders (magazines, guides, gloves and t-shirts). I cancel some prescriptions. I use the machine that stamps the letters. I write addresses, and I update the customer registry.

Then I have lunch, at the police house. I always feel as if I’m walking into the Ministry of Magic, especially when the police, in full uniform, stand in the elevator murmuring things to each other. The food isn’t all that great, but better than in school.

My lunch hour is thirty minutes. About. I take a little walk when I have eaten, and then I work some more.

At 13 coffee is served again. At 14.30 I have my third cup of coffee of the day, with a cookie, in order not to fall asleep whilst writing adresses into an excel-file.

16.00, I shut the lights and the doors and the window and get to the train. Then I half sleep, half read the way home. Except when I drive, I have Beatles on the stereo.

The only good thing is getting paid. Oh, and the new story-idea rooting in my head.

Painting

Painting painfully reminds me of how hard pictures really are to produce.

Now I’m supposed to do another one (I painted for about ten hours yesterday) and for this one, I don’t really have a reference shot. Shhh-

Next week I’m going to Scotland!

Growing tired…

… of maths, but, I’m close to getting rid of them now.

And I did the things I was going to, and I had a no, and I’m happier than I thought was possible. Relieved. Odd, but good.

From now on my posts will go back to not being cryptic, so beware.

Realization

Gaze down on the moonlit snow, a different shade of blue.
Seek in heavens after paths, and choose the one that’s true.
But you will forget,
no matter what.
Is that what you seek?
It is already there in your eyes.

I once again realized how small I am in this unimaginably huge universe, and how small the chances for being exactly me on this precise day are – and now I suddenly rest assured.
If the universe gives me bullshit, then it’s meant to be there and rather amazing. What is a 50/50 when the odds for the chance to even manifestate itself are one to oblivion?