Image- Coleman/Classic Stock  

Monthly Archive for March, 2009

Page 2 of 3

Writing in Valencia: Part Twelve

For years I have said that I don’t write fiction, much like many housekeepers say “I don’t do windows”, and then something happened and I have for the last two weeks been doing what I said I don’t do—only not really as my fiction is really more non-fiction than my non-fiction. That said, I now know why I have been resisting fiction like a root canal.

As you can see from the novel writing word count widget( which I highly recommend), located on the left margin of my blog, that I got from A Cat of Impossible Colour( a lovely blogger who I also highly recommend), I have written 12% of my novel. Just FYI, writing fiction is hard. I thought you might want to know that just in case you ever thought about doing it. Derrick Jensen had it right when he said, “Writing is really very easy. Tap a vein and bleed onto the page. Everything else is just technical.

That is what is what I have been doing. I have been sitting at my laptop five days a week and I have been tapping a vein and bleeding onto my laptop. I am telling the truth 1000 words at a time in a more honest way than I would ever dare to tell in non-fiction. Here is how I do it, and I don’t advise this method of writing for anyone, I sit and think of all the things that think I can’t write and are the most painful and unspeakable bits and I start there and I just write it all out totally unedited and I keep writing until the tears come. I often tell the truth so honestly that I am crying the whole 1000 words and am typing with my eyes closed because the Cover Girl Lash Blast mascara has gotten in my eyes and obscured my vision. And, lucky for me, all this writing has triggered even more material to take to Igor and when I take the material that is triggered by the writing then my work with him gives me more material for the book. It is a circle of pain and progress.

Carolyn See, the author of “Making a Literary Life” wisely suggests that “your thousand words are best when they are not just an outpouring of raw feelings. Sometimes those raw feelings suggest what you really want to be writing about….What if you look for the raw emotion in your own world and then, instead of dissipating it in single-spaced howling, just for the hell of it, write your own story?”

She goes onto recommend as you are writing your story to keep a post-it note near your writing space with the following: Character? Plot? Geography? POV? Time and space? Building a scene? Rewriting? Dialog vs. description? “And without looking at that list until later (maybe five days later, or six months later) you dash off a thousand word, remembering in a vague sort of way, that what you’re writing should have characters, that they have to do something” and that the novel requires the other things on your post-it note list. All these things will need to be decided, but not now. For now, I just have to keep writing.

I have over 10,000 words of total unedited hot mess. When I tried to explain to Igor how bad it is he said “Are you saying that it is so bad that I would have to wash my hands after holding it?” Yes, that is what I am saying. He seems to think that my sense of the book and my frustration with in its current state might have something to do with my mother’s anal retentiveness and how something is not okay unless it comes out perfectly formed and the book is not that. Really, it is the most unorganized document of chaos I have ever credited. I just write a 1000 words—and there is no beginning, middle or end and intellectually I know that is okay. I know that when I am done with my 80,000 words I can go back and organize, shape, rewrite, and edit like mad. It may even take another 80,000 words to tell my story and that is fine. But, let me assure you that as I write the 1000 words I often wonder what the hell I am doing and if I will ever manage to turn this into anything. I hear that voice and then I keep writing.

If you have difficulty allowing yourself to write a bad first draft I highly recommend Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Anne might also have a mother with a complex that Igor might diagnose as she wrote of the importance of “shitty first drafts“. I think of Anne’s wise words when I start to panic that my writing should be less shitty. I imagine that she will be much thought of through all 80,000 words and well into my shitty second draft.

Another important companion in the novel writing process beyond Igor, French roast coffee and Vitamin W is my novel notebook which I keep with me nearly 24 hours a day. I just can’t take a chance that when I am driving, at the market, or getting my nails done that some insight or idea might come and I might miss it.
It even comes into the bathroom with me just in case inspiration should hit when I _ _ _ _( I think Igor maybe onto something with his anal analysis). The only place I don’t take it with me is into the shower and that is only because the pages aren’t waterproof. I am constantly writing in my novel notebook little thoughts, words, phrases or pieces of info that I will want to include in the book. If you saw the notebook it would look to you like the ravings of a loon but I cannot tell you how much my notebook helps me when I have the appearance of a block. If I can’t come up with 1000 words to write I turn to the notebook and look at one of the entries and then I just start writing about that until there is nothing left and then I move onto the next one until I have met my word count quota.

I am off to do another 1000 words. I will need another cup of coffee, some Kleenex, and a strong stomach. Igor has stirred up plenty of raw material that is just waiting to be turned into a shitty first draft.

*****

If you would like evidence that I can inspire great writing, even if I can’t often manage it( at least in the first draft), please click here to meet un lapin blanc. I would love it if you would be so kind as to pop over and welcome my francophile white rabbit friend to the blogosphere with a warm bienvenue.

Totally unrelated to writing but about a writer: Braja friend, a frequent commenter and a dear bloggy has been in a very serious car accident. If you have a deity please pray for her, her husband and the driver who were all seriously injured. If, like me, you are deity free, please think good thoughts for all in
volved. Updates about her condition are posted frequently here. Braja we miss you and hope that you return very soon to the blogosphere.

Tomorrow is my birthday

….and I am not at all happy about this. I don’t care much about getting older as long as I can afford Botox and hair colour—-it is not so much the visible signs of aging that get to me but more that I am not able to live out a birthday ritual that I have had going since I was 10 years old. Every year on my birthday I buy a legal pad and I write a list of what I have accomplished that year:
1. Kissed a boy
2. Got an A in Spanish
3. I collected all flavors of Bonnie Bell Lip Balm
4. Finished third year of dance class at Karen Ketterer School of Ballet
5. Have new BBF
6. Got the chicken pox on purpose
7. I went to a shrink for the first time and I hate her and she is stupid and she just doesn’t get it.

As I got older the lists got more impressive:
1. Got into college
2. Failed algebra
3. Learned 50% of words in Taber’s Medical Dictionary
4. Got a job working for a pediatric neurologist
5. Broke up with shit for brains boyfriend
6. Wrote a short story

Once I review everything I accomplished the previous year then I at exactly 9:20 a.m. pacific time( the time of my birth) I sit on a bench at Palos Verdes beach and plan what my life will be in the next 365 days. Every year I have done this ritual I have sincerely and earnestly believed that I could make the next year would be whatever I wanted it to be if I worked hard enough at making it happen. I still have the notebook I wrote out in 2001 and almost everything I wrote out as goals for the year came true. I did get into grad school. I did get only A’s. I did get a fantastic internship where I loved working there and they love me working there” ( an exact quote from the 2001 birthday notebook). I did read all assigned reading and everything on the suggests reading list. I did walk a half marathon and I did have one of the happiest years of my life.

Well, tomorrow I should drive out to the beach at Palos Verdes and write out the f’n list of everything I accomplished this year but just the idea of that makes me feel like I need a Peptobismo cocktail. What did I accomplish this year? Pardon me, I need another shot of Pepto with a Tums chaser.

Okay, this year I:
1. I survived Austin
2. I survived Inkey dying
3. I survived being hit on by a family member
4. I went on Vitamin W
5. I lost many friends that I no longer have a single thing in common with because: 1) I am not and never will be a mother and b) I will no longer give away my work for free to them and hence I am down 6 friends this year. Woo-hooo! What an accomplishment.
6. I made a lot of lovely blogger friends who don’t seem to care if I am not a mother and that I won’t practice my craft on them for free and I feel lucky to have real friends that I have real things in common with, so that is good.
7. I am in therapy with Igor.
8. I wrote a crappy non-fiction book and had it rejected
9. I wrote 24 pages of a crap fiction book.
11. I survived moving to Valencia
12. I completely lost my faith and hope in any kind of benevolent force
13. I got my Prius
14. And, most importantly, I got Lily and have learned to train her
That’s it. That is what this year was and now it is over.

But for the next year I can come up with nothing to put on the list, there is nothing that I care if it happens or not. Yeah, we are going to Paris but I don’t really care( I know that is shocking) and yeah I am writing the crap novel and I don’t really care about it either. I think all the hope, desire and expectation I have had in last years has been crushed by disappointment, loss, trauma and harsh reality and so I just don’t dare to fully invest in a desire.

Yeah, I would like stuff for my birthday. Here is a list for you last minute shoppers:
1. I would like to have hope.
2. I would like to believe that someday we will move out of L.A. and find a real home.
3. I would like to lose 20 pounds without any effort or sacrifice on my part.
4. I would like a Canon Digital Rebel XSi 12.2 MP Digital SLR Camera with EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 IS Lens (Black).
5. I would like to trade in depression, anxiety and despair for boredom, fatigue and indifference.
6. A really good chocolate cake.
7. A cave with comfortable interiors and an inability to give or receive telephone calls from.
8. My student loans paid off in full.
9. Peace.

I might get the cake, everything else is more of a dream. I can’t write anything on the yellow legal pad that I don’t believe can happen. I just can’t. It would be breaking the rules. But cake will make it to the legal pad.

Fairy-god-blogger

Yesterday Lily had a lovely opportunity to practice and prepare for her upcoming trip to Paris. She spent nearly three hours at Aroma Cafe in Studio City with Fifi and I. Lily was treated to French bread, Fifi dog bones and even a little bit of Prosciutto. Fifi, as you may recall, is Lily’s Fairy-god-blogger.

Please click over to Fifi’s Flowers to learn the story of a ladies who lunch luncheon with Fifi, Lily and a Weasel. It’s worth the trip. Go on, click you heels together three times and say out loud, “there’s no place like Aroma” and then click here. Fifi doesn’t like it when I thank her profusely for bringing Lily and me together but I can’t help it; merci, Fifi!

I would write more but I have another luncheon date. Today I am meeting Pamela of Francophilia fame and her francophile friend, Dennis. Pamela traveled all the way from Paris to meet Lily( okay, maybe there were other reasons). As the ladies who lunch say: Ciao, Sweety Darling!

Update: Ms. Fifi was joking when she put that picture up in which she claimed it to be the two of us. That is most certainly not me. The only thing I have in common with the woman in the picture is that I am a woman and I have red hair. If I looked like that woman I would be modeling and not blogging. There are advantages to not looking like a Super-model, the advantages are few but I am determined to focus on them. The pictures of Lily are in fact Lily as she requires no stand-ins for her photos.

The latest in Paris fashions for bitches

Don’t blame me. This outfit was picked, purchased and placed on by He-weasel on his baby dog-aughter. Even if you are anti-dog clothes you have to admit that Lily looks gorgeous in her new ensemble. He-weasel says that he never imagined that he would buy his dog an outfit. Lily is the kind of dog that inspires people to do things that they wouldn’t usually do. Like me. I wouldn’t usually go for a walk if I didn’t feel like it. Now that I have Lily I very frequently go for walks when I don’t feel like it. Soon after we are our the door Lily has changed my mind and I find that I am actually enjoying the walk.

Can you imagine Lily walking down the Champs-Elysées in this ensemble? Those Parisian dogs won’t know what hit ‘em? Isn’t she ooh-la-la-lovely in her sassy hot pink French ribbon and her Eiffel tower tee with black lace trim. She certainly can Can-Can. Oui?

Writhing in Valencia: Ejected from Eden

It has officially been a year since we left Lake Bluff, Illinois. I thought I was doing okay. I thought I was starting to feel okay about L.A. and more on the hedonic side of things. Well, my psyche conspires against me. Wednesday morning I dreamt of Lake Bluff. There were no words, only images of Lake Bluff in the spring. It was kind of like a slide show. One image after the next all beautiful, green and lovely. I woke and for a second I didn’t remember that we had moved away and that instead of our lovely home off of Sheridan Drive I was now in a one bedroom condo in Valencia. The only thing I can compare the feeling to is a million years ago an idiot guy broke up with me and I was absolutely sick about it. You know that kind of love sick that leaves you convinced nothing will ever be right with the world again. So, I was that kind of sick and I remember the mornings of those days when I would wake up and just for a minute or two I would forget my heart was broken. That is what waking from this dream of Lake Bluff was like. When my memory returned and I realized that we lived in L.A. real tears started to flow.

A few months before we left Lake Bluff I started to have nightmares that we had to move back to L.A. I would wake He-weasel and make him vow that we never had to come back here ever again. See, L.A. is the site of early-life trauma. I have the kind of childhood trauma that gets one a spot on the Oprah show. Coming back here is a constant reminder of that. Also, I am an only child of a narcissistic mother and my mother is here in Southern California and that means I am closer to my mother (in mileage only). Now do you understand the vows, the nightmares, the tears? If not you don’t know what it is like to have a narcissist for a parent you should count your blessings.

I told Igor about my dream and the grief that it triggered and he responded,”If you grew up in Hell wherever you move to is going to feel like paradise.” Moving away from L.A. to Lake Bluff was a dream come true for me and its opposite a nightmare. Lake Bluff was everything that L.A. wasn’t. I felt at home. I felt safe. I felt sure that my new home was my reward for all that I endured. It was the perfect place to have kids and raise a family. People describe Lake Bluff as Mayberry of the North Shore and that is the kind of place that I wanted to raise my children. The one and only reason everyone moves to the North Shore of Chicago for is because they have kids and the schools are great.

When we left Lake Bluff for Austin last year because of He-weasel’s job I was devastated. I was not just because we were leaving our home but also because we failed to fulfill our baby dreams and because of that we could never return. Or, as Igor said, “Moving there would be masochistic.” Yet, I miss it like a person I can never see again because to see them again would remind me of what cannot be and what I cannot have. I can truly never go home again. We cannot ever go back and that is a pain that I am today feeling more keenly than a kidney stone.

Even though we have a lovely place to live here in Valencia I feel homeless. There is nowhere in the world that is home to me. L.A. is not and never will be my home even though I am making lovely friends here. Lake Bluff is the Eden from which we have been ejected. I think endlessly about where we should try to get transferred. San Francisco? New York? Boston? All these places have their appeal and yet I cannot imagine making a home or feeling as at home as I did in Lake Bluff when I believed we would raise a family there. I know, I know, home is where the heart is and that is all well and good but I want a city in a state with an address and a place to put my stuff that feels like home to me and I no longer believe that I will ever know that feeling ever again. I wonder if there isn’t a bright side to that and yet I am unable to see it today, the L.A. sunshine is obscuring my view.

“The only paradise is paradise lost.” Marcel Proust

“You can never go home again, Oatman. But I guess you can shop there.” Grosse Point Blank (1997)

“Nothing is wrong with Southern California that a rise in the ocean level wouldn’t cure. “
Ross McDonald

I found a new drug

I am really-really-really picky when it comes to fragrance. It took me years to find a fragrance I loved and once I found L’Artisan Premier Figuier I wore nothing much else for years. I love it for its sensual and fabulous figyness and because every time I spray some on I am transported back to Paris. Just a few weeks ago it was announced that I was one of the lucky winners of the Absolument Absinthe Valentine love note contest. I was excited to win the contest but I have to admit I was prepared not to like the fragrance. I received the package yesterday of a full bottle of Absolument Absinthe, a gorgeous massage candle and a sample of Absolument Homme.

I sprayed some Absolument Absinthe on expecting to be unimpressed and instead I was really and truly surprised to discover I liked the fragrance inspired by the mythological emerald-green liquor. I let the fragrance of la fée verte sit on my wrist and I waited for it to turn bad on me or to fade away or cause me to hallucinate or drive me crazy, making a ferocious beast as a critics of Absinthe claimed it would do. Strangely, none of that happened.

I breathed in deeply the potentially intoxicating fragrance to try and determine the notes but I am really bad at figuring out the notes of a fragrance. According to the Scented Salamandar: “The top notes are bergamot, black Chinese tea, and cannabis. Heart notes are absinthe (wormwood), cardamom, galbanum, nutmeg, muguet, lotus, ylang-ylang, and jasmine. Base notes are sandalwood and musk.”

Absolutment Absinthe was created by Pascal Rolland, the man who broke the ban on absinthe in 1999 with the help of Marc Villaceque, a renowned “aromatician” from Grasse. “Famous for his skills as a grand nez (a “great nose”), Monsieur Villaceque was seasoned in the practice of cold extraction, heat concentration, and alembic distillation, and was therefore able to attain a pure essence of the absinthe plant.”

Now that I smell like absinthe I am looking forward to trying absinthe for the first time when we are in Paris. Sadly I don’t think we will make it out to Pascal’s Liquoristerie in Aix en Provence. We will, however, be going to a Parisian absinthe bar. Don’t be green with envy because we will be drinking the “Green Gold”.

For more info:

Places to drink absinthe in Paris:

Old-fashioned absinthe service can be had at the Hotel Royal Fromentin, 11, rue Fromentin in the 9th arrondissement.

Anthony Bourdain drank absinthe here(which is the foodie equivalent of George Washington slept here):

Cantada II
13 rue Moret
75011 Paris
01 48 05 96 89

Caves du Roy
31 rue Simart
75018 Paris
01 42 23 99 11

An interesting article on absinthe by The New Yorker.

For everything you wanted to know about Absinthe but were afraid you would turn into Oscar Wilde if you asked visit The Absinthe Museum.

For more info on Absolument absinthe check out his video:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tE6sumsqNP4]


Painting featured: L’Absinthe by Edgar Degas.

About Me

My name is Tracey, aka La Belette Rouge. I am a psychotherapist and the author of Freudian Sip @ Psychology Today. I blog about psychology, my therapy, dreams, writing, meaning making, home, longing, loss, infertility and other things that delight or inspire me. I try to make deep and elusive psychodynamic concepts accessible and funny. For more information, click here .

Have La Belette Rouge delivered right to your door

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

Follow using a Feed Reader

La Belette Rouge for the Amazon Kindle

Belette Rouge’s Tip Jar