writer's block as a lifestyle

Came across my lifelong dilemma, again.

My old university is now accepting applications to a two-year creative writing program run by two established authors.

Sounds like a DREAM. I immediately visualised inspiring sessions together with a tight-knit group of aspiring writers, passionately discussing literature and boosting each other's writing (preferably over a pint in a cosy pub, kind of like Tolkien and Lewis and that gang). Making lifelong friends and magically turning into a writer. I sat down immediately to write the three-page text sample necessary for the application, free choice of genre.

And realised that I couldn't. I can't write fiction.

It's not that I question my own ability, it's that I find it a complete waste of time. Which is very odd because I love reading fiction, basically read nothing else. But I want what I write to be true, or at least have a message to the reader. I can't seem to find a message. And as to writing the truth - well, the truth doesn't really seem interesting enough. I doubt that a few pages out of my blog will do for the application.

Dilemma: what do you do when you love writing but all you can manage is a blog?

so juicy you can't spill

And I heard the most SCANDALOUS story that will probably ever happen across my boring little life, the kind that would even make the headlines, and I can't tell anyone. Not even my best friend. Sometimes I wonder why I have morals.

urban joy

After a week in the wild, I feel as if I'm doing all the things urban hipsters do (or what I imagine them doing) - I go for  a run and afterwards dress in white and denim and sip something strawberryish in a white city apartment while browsing Pinterest.

Running (usually a painful chore) felt as if my trainers had developed little wings. I returned to my little flat in the sky bursting with strength and freedom.

I love the city, the sound of people's voices screaming and laughing in the distance even when I have shut myself in. I love being online again. But oh, was it ever hard to tear myself away from the stillness of a place where there are only trees and a quiet sea.

turns a meal into a feast

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend."
(Melody Beattie) 

I think I need this gratitude, whatever it is.

The world is an impossible place for atheists. To have gratitude, you need someone to be grateful to.

the usual story (never to be written)

A candle, something sweet in a glass, a head full of dreams and absolutely nothing to write about.

white roses are a warning sign

I read blogs to find inspiration. Someone I knew had a beautiful one, like a piece of art in itself. Gorgeous pictures that should hang in an art gallery, poetic writing, creative and tasteful layout.

Then I found that many of that blogger's friends had almost identical blogs. Other pictures of course, and clearly their own writing, but somehow so very alike that they could have been copy-pasted off each other.

Pictures of white roses. Pictures of a few lines of poetry on ancient paper, surrounded by props such as vintage books, a single flower (sometimes dead and dried), white linen, a Diptyque candle. The colour scheme always white with greyish tones, pictures often in black and white and with a shimmering, softening filter. The writing center-aligned with careful line breaks to make prose look like poetry, talking about the beautiful little things in everyday life - the evening light, the warm skin of a loved one, a mug of tea, a sudden realisation that happiness is just a breath away.

I used to find these blogs so beautiful, the pictures as well as the writing. Such a welcome relief after reading all these air-headed, girly blogs with dozens of selfies that show off "today's outfit" from every possible angle. After I found these beautiful ones, I saw the whole world through a golden shimmer for a little while.

Then I discovered that this is a trend, this vintage-artsy-minimalistic-photographer/writer blog. These creative blog writers were suddenly not very creative after all, but interchangeable. It kind of broke my heart a little.

this expression

"You had this expression on your face, like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth."

(Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You)

I feel this expression on my face every now and then. 

an American touch(down)

Summer in a tiny Finnish city: sunshine, ice cream and not a bad game of American football.

Actually, I wouldn't know if it was a bad game or not, since it was the first one I've ever seen. American football is not a big sport in Finland, although our local team happens to be a good one. But there were big guys throwing each other to the ground, talk of yards and quarters (which sounds strange in the mouth of a Finnish commentator, but he was very good at explaining the game to us ignorant Finns), cheerleaders (although very young and rather half-hearted) and some good music on the loudspeakers.

We were baking under the hot sun but the man at my side kept bringing me ice-cold cans of Pepsi from the concession stand. So no cause for complaint at all.

eyes on the horizon

I have spent so many hours of my life just staring at the sea.

What a wonderful life to have.

hips move mountains

"You are beautiful.

Own it.

Walk like your hips move mountains."

(unknown)

a summer with no orphans

Vacation-time coming up and I'm already worried.

There will be boredom and restlessness and I need to plan against it. I'm stocking up on books (in my own two languages, for relaxation) and magazines (in another language, for linguistic studies) and photos (to sort out) and sports bras (for beachvolley) and limoncello (well, for consumption) and tips on fun summer events around here (for consideration) and addresses to the best flea markets within a hundred mile radius (for shopping) and good music (for enjoyment and something to talk to my teenage nephews about) and nail polish (for bare toes) and patience (for family get-togethers) and cider (for balcony cider evenings with my balcony cider buddy) and borrowed poodles (for company).

I feel it won't be enough. I'll add episodes of House M.D. (for desperate times).

And now I feel like a shallow whiner. What I really should do is go rescue drowning orphans out of the Mediterranean.

like an Arabic queen

One thousand and one blog entries. I'm Scheherazade keeping herself alive.

But it's Midsummer and there are no nights.

crave a different kind of buzz

Today, I have...

* stared at a bottomless green lake I didn't know existed
* shouted at my phone, in public
* used the word "orgasm" at a church lunch (in conversation with a  male pastor)
* tried to reconcile my cynicism and my idealism
* tried to lose weight
* watched a  royal wedding  on TV with my mum
* been given a beautiful present for no reason (see necklace below)

At least a few of these fall into the category of Things I've Never Done Before / Places I've Never Been Before, so not a bad day at all. Better buzz than a royal wedding.

(What definitely does NOT fall into this category is the reconciling and the weight-loss attempt.)

there's a world not far from here

I take one of my thinking walks.

Not along the beautiful seafront promenade, or the busy streets in the city centre. I walk among back streets and the long street with the long name Korsholmsesplanaden - although that one can't be called a back street, it's a boulevard with a quiet tree-lined footpath in the middle.

I don't look around much. I need to stare at the asphalt beneath my feet in order to sink into a thinking state. I avoid noise and traffic but the occasional dog-walker or cyclist is fine - completely empty streets make me feel abandoned.

I stop for coffee at one of those places with stale coffee and too many men playing the slot machines. When I return home, it's chilly and grey. But children are playing football in the park, birds are chirping around me and all I can think of is a glass of wine and a quiet evening.

I haven't done much thinking. But my mind has slowed down and only plays a quiet melody.

- our hearts are like firestones,
when they strike we feel the love -

solar opposites

Fascinating fact about Finland:

 A midnight in June (picture above) has roughly the same amount of daylight as a noon time in December.

thawing out the zombies

It's the idyllic part of the Finnish year.

Birdsong and fragrance and people who seem less like zombies. Myself feeling slightly less like a zombie.

alphabet for gloomy children

A Dystopian Alphabet
…for gloomy children (and their parents) everywhere.

A is for APPLE, iPhone and Mac.
B is for BEES, that died out some time back.
C is for CONCRETE, our modelling-clay,
D for DISPOSABLE – throw it away.
E is for ENERGY (that’s what we burn),
F is for FINANCE that makes the world turn.
G is for GREENHOUSE GAS, warming the earth,
H is for HOPE, of which there’s a dearth.
I is for INTERNET, that’s where we play.
J is for JOBS, performed for less pay.
K is for KINDLE, where e-books are put.
L is for LIBRARIES (all of them shut).
M is for MEDICINE for all our ills.
N is for NHS - submerged by bills.
O is for OXYGEN, without which we’d die
P for the PLANTS that provide our supply.
Q is for QUESTIONS that should have been asked.
R, for RESOURCES, running out fast.
S is for STATE SCHOOLS, which used to be free,
T is for TRANSPORT, which links A to B.
U is for UVs that come from the SUN
V is for VIRUS - never much fun.
W is for WARHEADS we cannot afford
X marks the spot where your VOTE is ignored.
Y is a chromosome, cleverly linked.
Z is for ZEBRA, now sadly extinct.

(Joanne Harris)

choose a man

"I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman." (Anaïs Nin)

And people wonder why I'm single.

a mini-van and someone else's life

Late one night I find myself trying to manouver an unfamiliar mini-van through the city streets after receiving a panicked phone call from a friend going into labour.

Nervous and high on adrenaline, I put all my effort into projecting calm and cheerfulness for the benefit of the three small children staring at me shyly from the back seat. I'm a half-stranger to them and the situation must be even weirder for them, after hearing their mother gasp in pain and their father give me hurried instructions.

As I try to figure out the car and navigate vaguely remembered roads to find their grandparents' house, I feel oddly elated. This is like taking a peek at someone else's life. Like being a mother. Is this something I have missed out on?

It's oddly satisfying, being responsible for three small lives. On the other hand, it's nice to be the one that can be called on to sort out a crisis at a moment's notice.

manual overload

Downloaded a manual for my new phone onto my new phone.

Now I can't find it because I need a manual to tell me where to locate a downloaded manual.

Just another day in the life of a 21st century savage.