a word from the management

We've moved

suffer for fashion

There are frustratingly few images of Eva Marie Saint's wonderful wardrobe in North by Northwest. Every time she came onscreen, it felt like she'd raided my dream closet.

Build me a time machine, please.


But really, who wouldn't be inspired to look fabulous playing opposite Cary Grant?

i'll gobble you up, i love you so

(photo by Lulu Wei)

An update on my life of late is in order.

Most presently, I'm the winner of The Glamourai and Corvus Noir's Alice in Wonderland themed contest! I'd been curious to try fashion blogging for a while, and I felt really inspired by the contest's theme, so I asked my talented roommate Lulu if she would photograph me. I'm so proud of the results, and would like to try doing something like this regularly. I'd just have to get more comfortable being in front of the camera!

The comments/votes from the Glamourai's readers were so supportive and wonderful, and the competition was so stiff! I really wasn't expecting to actually win – I was just happy enough to place – so it was a wonderful surprise. AND, I've been wanting a pocketwatch necklace for years now, and the prize (a reworked vintage piece) is PERFECT. I wanted it anyway. I'll have to make sure to style it up well and document the evidence.

So thank you, everyone who voted for me. You'll never know how much it means.

It feels like this is just another step lately that's been guiding me in a positive direction. After the one-two hit of Up in the Air on Sunday night with my guy and Lemonade with my BFF on Monday, I really feel renewed in my sense of figuring out what it is that I need out of a job right now. No, I don't need to figure out whatwillmakemehappyforeverandever, but I do need to find something that suits my strengths better, that utilizes my inquisitive side and that actually allows for real creativity. I've been spending too much time in shoes that are too small.

No, I did not finish NaNoWriMo. I made it to just shy of 10,000 words, which is a fifth of the way. But hey! For someone who has been feeling the weight of the blank page for too long, that's pretty good! No, the product isn't great (or anywhere near that), and yes, it's likely being shelved entirely, but it was an interesting exercise, and I learned a few things. Namely:

1. Do not attempt to write a novel in a month and begin a new relationship. Both require lots of time and nesting.
2. Read more as I write. The tight deadline didn't allow for any reading time, which is an area I'm supposed to be nurturing anyway. After writing lean prose and reading news sites and blogs all day, I need something with a bit of poetry to get my cogs moving as they should.
3. I may be allergic to deadlines, but I need to schedule in more writing time. It's worth it.
4. Have a better idea of a story, characters, ANYTHING before entering the arena.
5. I may not feel imaginative all the time, but damn, I can spin an excuse like no other.
6. Yes, I am capable of quieting that crazy-editor side of my brain, if only for 15 minute increments.

All in all, it was a positive experience, and I'm going to attempt it again next year. Or perhaps this year. I don't need to do it in November. Anyway, we'll see.

I'd been feeling a little anxious for a while, tired and evasive and quiet, and I'd been trying to figure out why, because in my personal life, everything's been so wonderful. And I've finally decided I'm tired of feeling ashamed that I'm not reaching my full potential. I'm with someone ambitious, driven, and brilliantly talented, and while I love that about him, that can be hard on me as I'm someone who tends to unconsciously compare. Why do I not feel the drive to do that? Why can I not seem to find direction? How could someone like him find me and my unfulfilled life attractive? So for practice, this week I've stopped doing that – and so far, it feels wonderful.

How can I expect that I'll get back up if I keep cutting myself down? And how can I start anything if I'm already expecting I'll fail? Yes, my projects may be smaller in scale and less impressive, but I'm capable of much more than I attempt. Hell, on one somewhat lazy Saturday morning, I was able to make something beautiful, be someone beautiful, and inspire the support of perfect strangers.

So fuck this self-consciousness. I'm making jokes that fall flat, awkwardly making small talk, and opening up, not just with him and those close to me, but with everyone.

For a change, I'm pressing play.

Don't Keep Calm and Carry On

I want to make things. Pretty things, with fluff and fuzz and feathers and fringe. I want to make things that sparkle like fresh snow not rhinestones and drape across chests and dangle down to navels, and make people feel good when they put them on and touch them and see them.

I want to learn how to sew, so I can wear things that feel like singing, instead of listlessly browsing through fabric drooping on hangers in rows upon rows in shopping malls.

I want to knit more, so I can have cozy things and everyone I love can have cozy things too, because everyone deserves socks that feel magical when you put them on, and mittens filled with fluff so your fingers never get cold.

I want to make more necklaces and bracelets and earrings, because they make all of my clothes feel more special, and because when I wear my feather necklace I feel like a lion, and I want more of that in my everyday, and I want other people to feel like lions in their everyday too.

I want to write more, but that doesn’t have to be for anyone else – that’s for me, because I feel healthier and happier and stronger when I do, and everything in the world is electrified and filled with possibility. And I want to read more, books and words that feed me and scare me and console me and lie with me before fucking me, and maybe even fuck me up a little, because sometimes that’s what happens when you climb into someone else’s brain for a while, and sometimes those are the stories you need to experience.

I want to have extra hands, so I can do all of these things, and have time for them all, and do many other things that I don’t even know how to do yet.

Zen Habits: The World Needs You to Do What You Love

Erik Mallinson

On Unsticking

Image via weheartit

I've been hitting grit after spinning for so long.

Headlong into the noveling project (7,000 words in, roughly), I'm grappling with The Wall. This is supposedly common for week two. I fear I have an exceptionally dull protagonist and a flighty, derivative storyline. I have wonderful people supporting me and cheering me on, and I fear that they'll want to read what I'm writing and I'll have to tell them, "no, not ever", because thinking it'll never see the light of day is the only way I can actually do this in the first place. 50,000 words is a lot of work to never be read by anyone but me, which makes me feel like it's not amounting to much, but I can't know how this is going to turn out, and I need to put my pride aside and not expect any sort of outcome. I'm reminding myself that this 50,000 is an investment in me and an education in shucking off my self-editor and she's been shushed quite successfully for 7,000 words, so what's 43,000 more? (Gulp.)

I've got a new distraction, which doesn't help my word count, but makes the writing easier. There are late night smiles and cheesy jokes and car rides with great music and hands on one another's knees, and suddenly I find myself wanting to share all of my favourite songs and wear my prettiest clothes and brush the hair off his forehead. I feel still and quiet and content and present. This feels comfortable, which is good, as I'm out of my well-defined depth.

Sometimes I catch myself and think, "but this isn't what you wanted!", but I think I only knew what I didn't want – I didn't want to settle. But it's not settling, it's not accepting less or giving up, to give more breathing room to something imperfect but promising. I've been so good at being practical that I'd forgotten how to take a leap on something that didn't have an expiry date. And I'm still not sure that I'm any good at it, but I can only get better if I'm not afraid to fail.

So far, November's taught me that to get wheels out of the mud, I can't be afraid of the dirt.

The Art of Undressing

In taking the time for some serious introspection the last few months, I didn't realize how guarded I'd become. Sure, it was comfortable and safe, and completely necessary – I have a better idea of what I need, and a renewed dedication to accomplishing some of those things I've been talking about forever. But I'd been dating and meeting new people, and being an introverted type, it's been far easier to be this simulacrum of Amanda, this profile of person. I'd been hitting all of the beats, and talking favourite movies and music, and distilling myself down to talking points. It's kept my focus on the internal, but it's kept me at arm's length and it's kept me from making true connections. So as I pile on the layers this fall, I'm shedding this tired skin and trying to inhabit a freer sense of self – how refreshing!

On a related note, I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I feel excitement and fear all entwined and bundled up together, and I know it's not going to be easy (mostly, in terms of keeping me engaged), but I have the sense I'm embarking on something wonderful here. I plan to write here about the stuff I'm going through, but in all honesty, after writing all day at work and coming home to NaNo, I may not have the energy. I may grow to hate words (ha! unlikely). I don't even have a plot or characters yet. I've got some vague ideas of the kind of story I'd like to tell and explore, so we'll see how that works out. We'll see what happens – it's exciting to see this roll of paper unfurling, armed with 64 crayons and light hands.

I already know those en dashes will litter my work. But I just love them so! I'm sorry, semi-colon!

Grounded

For a long time now, I have felt like I've been spinning my wheels.

In high school, I liked writing stories. I liked reading novels, and thinking critically about them, and gaining understanding about issues larger than the sum of words on a page. So I decided to go to university to study English.

In university, I liked the discussions and new concepts I was learning. I liked discovering uncomfortable ideas, and suspending my preconceptions to try them on for a while. I liked challenging myself as a writer, and having my work critiqued by my peers (although that was always scary). I liked critiquing my peers' work, and seeing them grow, and feeling like I had a little part in that.

But there were bigger things going on in my life. I found shedding my preconceptions to try on new ideas to be both liberating and terrifying, because sometimes these new ideas fit better on me than the old ones, and sometimes the two weren't compatible. I lived off student loans, and indulged often because it was my first time living without rules. I drank alcohol, and smoked pot, and liked both. I hated going to class, because it meant getting up earlier than I wanted, and it was often boring. I grew to dislike reading, because it stopped being about the journey of the story and became about finishing X amount of pages in Y amount of time. I gave depression a name, and saw its affect on my friends' lives. It became a close friend itself.

My three years spent at university were a time of intense growth, and were understandably filled with many growing pains. But I'd never give up that period for anything. I forged friendships with people I now consider to be family. I know myself better now than I did before, because even if that sense of self feels more tenuous, I can ask myself questions and wait to find out what my answers truly are (and I know that those answers won't be true forever, and that's okay). I don't make the same assumptions I once did, and I see a world that is far greater than I can ever know, and I'm becoming more comfortable with the fact that I'll never have the answers to some questions. I know now that I am a work in progress. For me, that was worth the $30,000 in student loans.

When I left university, I thought leaving that arena would mean a more settled self, and I would gain clarity of purpose. I thought that leaving the crucible would tame the fire, and it did to a degree, and now I'm glad it hasn't abated entirely. Unfortunately, it's meant that I've felt like I've been on a path of discovery for a long time, and it's a tiring process.

So I worked at a flower shop, and I liked what I did, but I didn't feel challenged and I hated the drama of my coworkers, and of the career in general. I wasn't engaging that critical side of myself. So I moved on.

I got a job as a receptionist, where I commuted into the city every day and got a real paycheck that would start to make a more significant dent in my debts. I wasn't challenged by the position, but I was engaging with smart people daily, and I was organized, and I felt like a grown up.

They liked me so much they promoted me. I was now a writer at an ad firm, and I still am. It's a title that makes people at parties 'oooh' when I tell them, because Mad Men is popular, and my job seems glamourous. It is not. I am now Climbing The Ladder.

I moved out my parents' house in the suburbs, and into a shared apartment downtown. I broke up with my boyfriend and got much happier, and my social life started to fall into place, and I had more free time and I tried new kinds of food. But I wasn't, and still am not, fulfilled, because I am still trying to find the outlets for what is inside, begging to be free, and the courage to see those things through.

So I'm going to start writing about how I am trying to find that fulfillment. Because I have been searching for it for what feels like a long time. I went to university because I wanted to fulfill my critical side, and now reflection has filled that void. With friends, I reflect on the nature of the world, on the connections between disparate things, on our love lives and dreams and anxieties, and I feel like I might have a little influence in how they view their world, and I like that. Because they've had an influence on mine, and the world has given me so much and I appreciate that, and I want to give back.

So I will start to, in my own navel-gazing way. And maybe, this will give me the push I need to get out of the mud.