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Spinning Wheels of Thought

Picture borrowed from; https://www.townsends.us/products/colonial-spinning-wheel-sp378-p-874

I start today with nothing in my head to write about. I guess I can say that with regularity most days of the writing week. Sundays in particular are filled with no useful ideas of any kind. But I have a certain talent for spinning. As Rumpelstiltskin had a talent for spinning straw into gold, I take the simple threads of ideas leaking out of my ears and spin them into yarns that become whole stories-full of something to say. And it is not something out of mere nothing. There is magic in spinning wheels. They take something ordinary and incomplete, and turn it into substantial threads useful for further weaving.

Of course the spinning wheel is just a metaphor here for the craft of writing. And it is a craft, requiring definable skills that go well beyond merely knowing some words and how to spell them.

My own original illustration.

The first skill is, of course, idea generation. You have to come up with the central notion to concoct the potion. In this case today, that is, of course, the metaphor of using the writing process as a spinning wheel for turning straw into gold. But once that is wound onto the spindle, you begin to spin yarn only if you follow the correct procedure. Structuring the essay or story is the next critical skill.

Since this is a didactic essay about the writing process I opened it with a strong lead that defined the purpose of the essay and explained the central metaphor. Then I proceeded to break down the basic skills for writing an essay with orderly explanations of them, laced with distracting images to keep you from dying of boredom while reading this, a very real danger that may actually have killed a large number of the students in my writing classes over the years (although they still appeared to be alive on the outside).

My mother’s spinning wheel, used to make threads for use in porcelain doll-making, and as a prop for displaying dolls.

As I proceed through the essay, I am stopping constantly to revise and edit, makeing sure to correct errors and grammar, as well as spending fifteen minutes searching for the picture of my mother’s spinning wheel used directly above. Notice, too, I deliberately left the spelling-error typo of “making” to emphasize the idea that revising and proof-reading are two different things that often occur at the same time, though they are very different skills.

And as I reach the conclusion, it may be obvious that my spinning wheel of thought today spun out some pure gold. Or, more likely, it may have spun out useless and boring drehk. Or boring average stuff. But I used the spinning wheel correctly regardless of your opinion of the sparkle of my gold.

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How to Survive When Diabetes Bites Your Head

My daughter being squinched in the hug of Minnie Mouse. (She was younger then, Minnie I mean.)

My family is vacationing in Florida this week, at Disney World for at least three of those days. They promised to send me pictures. Since they haven’t yet, I included this old picture from almost a decade and a half ago.

I made the horrible mistake today while home alone of having a cheeseburger for lunch instead of the usual popcorn and cheese.

My diabetes took exception to the dietary change and took a big bite out of my brain. I am not suggesting I had a stroke. No proof of thar. I can touch the tip of my nose with both of my hands, and I can raise both of my arms completely over my head. My blood sugar was at 177 however and rising. I have a headache. And typing this is a slow nightmare of key strokes gone wrong.

You might think that resting is what I should be doing. But if you do think that, it is because you have never had a high-blood-sugar episode with nobody around to help and no insulin available. I am not going to die, but it is necessary to keep my brain working, which I do by writing this and fixing every place where I miss-type a U for an I or a 9 for a U.

You may not think this all sounds funny, but high blood sugar can make you feel kinda drunk and laughing helps lower it. That alone can make the U’s and 9’s hilarious.

There are dragons breathing fire in my brain.

Cussing also relieves some of the brain pain brought on by trying to find a second illustration for this article through the murk of diabetic confusion. When I misspell words, too, I can shout “Firetruck!” with five letters missing, turn to the spellchecker, and continue on by laughing at myself while cussing when nobody can possibly hear me.

That is, you realize, something my wife never lets me do, even if it will keep me alive.

This part right here is representative of the minutes I was unconscious. A dream-filled sleep of probably only a few minutes. Blood sugar is now 140 and going down. My head is clearing. I can now correct all the spelling errors that are left, surprisingly only two… including “surprisingly” which I just now miss-typed.

I briefly considered not publishing this essay, but it does prove I can write when writing is not easy. For that reason I will share it, though I must soon go walking and making my blood circulate more.

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The Next Reasonable Step

I am now spending a week alone. My wife and kids, and my eldest son’s fiancé are all in Florida visiting Disney World. I get to stay home with the dog. Sounds like sour grapes, right? It’s not. I physically cannot handle the airplane ride, let alone a walk around the world’s largest network of entertainment theme parks. And this may be my wife’s last trip there as she suffers from arthritis too. And number two son is likely going to the Air Force training camp in December. Time is running out on the family being all together. And it has already run out on me as far as this tourist-trip plan for November.

I managed to qualify for Medicare Parts A & B on Tuesday. I turn 65 next week. So, there really is not a lot of life left to plan for on the road before me. So, what can I reasonably do next?

I will not be toe-dancing like Mikhail Barishnikov. I will not be able to play left field for the St. Louis Cardinals. Climbing Mount Everest or landing on Mars with Elon Musk are neither one going to happen for me.

But I have three books in the works. AeroQuest 4 just needs the second edit on the rewrite to be complete before I get it published on Amazon. The Necromancer’s Apprentice has passed the point in the rough draft where it can be considered a novella. It will now be a complete novel of at least 30,000 words. He Rose on a Golden Wing is almost as far along as a rough draft. And yes, I do write more than one book at the same time.

But finishing any of those is a reasonable next step. I can fight an interstellar war defending the airless pirate world called Outpost from the evil Imperium. I can train students of magic in Eli Tragedy’s tower to make them fit to fight an evil necromancer. And I can help three teenagers battle through suicidal depression. Those are not things to be sneezed at. Laughed at, yes. Sneezing… no. Finishing another novel is the next reasonable step in my plan.

Or, as you can plainly see… I can play with my toys. Probably not a reasonable next step, though.

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When There’s Nothing to Write About…

…Write About Nothing.

Going nowhere, moving fast

Wearing nothing, at the last

Leave this life the way you entered

Blind and naked, not quite centered

There is no meaning

In this post

Besides the picturess

You like most

And things in here

Will make no sense

Full of nothing

And yet so dense

So, Have yourself a lovely day…

…cause things don’t matter anyway

There’s nothing here for you to see

So move along and happy be!

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William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Forgotten Master

I came to an awareness of Bouguereau in the San Antonio museum of art.  In the 1990’s they had one of Bouguereau’s most famous works on display upstairs in an alcove at the head of the stairway.  I walked up the stairs and this painting, called Admiration hit me right between the eyes.

Admiration 1897

Admiration 1897

 

Adolphe-William Bouguereau Paintings 50 (1)He was a master of figure painting in the late 1800’s.  He worked in oils from live models, and may-or-may-not have used optical mirrors to transfer images onto canvas, although that sort of cheating does not account for his mastery of color, shape, composition, and form.  In my humble opinion, having tried to do what he has done, he is as great a painter as Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Michelangelo, and Donatello.   His figures are alive.  Their skin looks absolutely real.  Even the facial expressions suggest that the character is about to speak.

640px-William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_(1825-1905)_-_A_Young_Girl_Defending_Herself_Against_Eros_(1880)Of course, he creates nudes at a level that might get him labelled a pornographer.  In fact, you have to realize that he comes from a time when salon painters were the only creators of erotic art, using biblical or mythological themes to cover the fact that they were creating nude female figures (and sometimes male nudes) to appeal to the automatic sensual response common to all living humans (well, most humans… I can’t speak to how prudery and religion can kill desire).  Other painters of his day were definitely little more than the equivalent of Playboy Magazine.  Still, he was able to produce images both nude and clothed that appear ready to step off the canvas and talk to you.

403px-william-adolphe_bouguereau_281825-190529_-_a_calling_28189629Adolphe-William Bouguereau Paintings 185boug_Reve_de_printempsp_65_1bouguereau20peignant20paintingbouguereau_william_2

He lost a lot of his popularity at the beginning of the 20th Century because Renoir, Monet, and the Impressionists actively criticized his worked and divorced the perceptions of good art from the pursuit of realism.  The invention of photography also took away some of the need for photo-realistic art.  Still, in my studies of this particular painter, I believe I have discovered one of the greatest masters of oil of all time.

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Mickey the Wererat

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October 15, 2021 · 7:36 pm

Rooster Riding

Image

Do I believe in the little people?  Of course not.  If Tinkerbell depends on me, she is dead meat… or maybe dead fairy dust.

But if they do exist, then they are like the rooster riders in my picture, exploiting the world in the same way the big old slow ones do.  

They are not our inferiors or our superiors.  They are us.  They mirror us and our beliefs, our dreams… our nightmares, and all the things deep within us that could ever possibly go bump in the night.

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The Road Home Changes

I am not technically going home when I leave Iowa for Texas. Home will always be behind me in Rowan, Iowa.

But now my sister will live on the family farm place. My parents are together again, but no longer there.

It is not a sunset situation, but a new sunrise.

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My Mother’s Funeral

Dad died on my birthday in 2020. The pandemic kept me from attending his funeral in person.

Mom’s funeral came almost a year later. Today, October 1st, 2021.

Sad as we are, there is finally a sense of closure. We celebrated both of their lives today. It was a beautiful service. And loads of people were there.

It was also a time to mourn. Grief at such a time is proof of love. And the evidence was there of how much both of them were loved… by neighbors… by friends… And by family.

We will all heal, but we will also never forget.

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Struggles in Technological Stew

Have you ever gone swimming in a giant bowl of beef stew? No? That’s what I am doing at the moment.

I am in Iowa right now. My laptop computer is in Texas. I am writing this on an old Samsung Android that royally screwed up my WordPress editor in the last software update.

While desperately trying to add pictures to the first attempt at today’s post, I randomly reposted two old posts by accident.

Ànd I still can’t add a picture.

Ah, life! Swimming in stew. Running head-first into the potato chunks of misfortune.

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