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.

like watercolours blooming

A space for play is necessary. Without it, people tend to be slightly stunted. Adulthood could be just as wonderful as childhood was, still have a sense of adventure and curiousity and joy.

That is the great thing that Meryl Streep is able to capture in Julie & Julia: joy. She played a woman so in love with life, with living well and goodnaturedly. It's rare magic to see such a peaceful and boisterous performance.

We must get back to these simple pleasures. Well, I guess I must, but I think it might be a better place if people were more wonderous, more curious, more joyous.

But adults are so keen to be adults, piling on pressures and losing that sense of life being special, magical. I want more magic.

More sunsets, especially the kind after big rains when the sky goes pink.

You and I haven't been in love for so long

It's been a while.

Yes, since you and I have have done the tango, blinking bar. I'm not sure if you're trying to entice or intimidate – eventually I'll figure that out, and the more we dance, the easier it is to keep time with your bleating footfalls.

On top of that, wearing new shoes! Learning new steps! Recognizing these new horizons!

Don't worry – we'll be swirling together before long, I suspect.

I Feel Evil Creeping In

I saw The Dark Knight opening night in a vain attempt to view the film with some degree of objectivity. I avoided movie reviews, but it's hard to enter a film like this without preconceived notions. The hype's been swirling for months now, and going in, I have to admit feeling a certain degree of reluctance - I was sure it was going to be a great fucking ride, but I wasn't going to make it easy to win me over. I felt similarly seeing Batman Begins, which completely surpassed expectations, so I say the following without guilt.

If you liked the tack taken with Batman Begins, you'll be satisfied with the darkness Nolan steeps Gotham in here. This is still a city run by the bad guys, where the good guys fight half-heartedly, knowing that even their best bet is operating in a system that routinely gives them the short shrift. This is still the Gotham on the brink of descending into chaos, but not quite there yet - with the mob still controlling things, the city is run by a law that chokes the actual law at every turn, but has its own order. This is the Gotham that needs Batman, if only to give the good guys a fighting chance, but he certainly isn't one of them. Batman has a gray niche all carved out for himself, keeping himself at arms length from Gordon and the new DA, Harvey Dent, and fighting crime by subverting the stealth the mobsters usually reserve for their interactions. It's a tenuous situation, but at film's open, Right is gaining ground over Wrong, inch by inch.

Into the fray, enter anarchy.

This Joker is exactly what the Joker should always have been depicted as - delighting in debasing people, sadistically twisting the knife wherever possible, overturning the status quo. He is given more lingering screen time as the film progresses, in a fantastic move on Nolan's part; the beginning, where he's just a lunatic but the mob's best shot at getting the Bat, gradually gives way to lengthier interactions with central characters. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of this is how it exposes how unbelievably sane he is. He shows perfect clarity in understanding his place in that system, as an agent of change, and as Batman's foil. I particularly liked how the story of his scars changed every time he told it - he is a man without history, and he's emerged because he's had to. The theatre laughed when the Joker mockingly says that Batman "completes him", but this is the Joker at his most plainly spoken. Batman emerged as a scourge of the underworld, taking two steps ahead of the status quo in order to give good a fighting chance. In doing so, however, in donning a costume and a moniker, in becoming a symbol, there can only have been an equal and opposite reaction. In opening the door to masked crusaders, he only opened it wider for masked villains, also stepping up their game. By refusing to play by the rules, Batman has created a villain willing to throw all of the rules in the pile and burn them with the rest of the world. And he knows that in order for the Joker to be truly, finally stopped, Batman will have to break his only rule - to not kill - but in that, would be giving the final point to the Joker, who will have debased the only order left in the name of good.

That praise being said, this is not a flawless film. This is not the film the hype made it out to be.

This is a long film. I understand there's a tendency in Hollywood not to cut all of those lovely, expensive scenes that were filmed, but ultimately, we are left with films bogged down by their own weight - an action movie should not forget what its ultimate goal should be. I laud the filmmakers for making a film that gazes at its navel from time to time, because that is certainly a step above even the best of purely action films (such as Ironman), but superfluous storylines do not a stronger movie make. I can easily think of a storyline that should have been cut (involving Hong Kong, for those who have seen it), and would have resulted in a much tighter film overall. In addition to that, Maggie Gyllenhaal was just as fucking wooden as Katie Holmes, which so frustrating as I'm a big fan of hers. And, perhaps the most worrisome, was how little I cared for the characters. There were some exceptions; Aaron Eckhart did a fantastic job (and I was pleasantly surprised to see much of Harvey Dent pre-Two-Face), and Ledger was unbelievably fun to watch onscreen. I agree that it was truly a shame he died so young, and it's pretty clear here how talented he was, but this talk of an Oscar for this role would be a joke - the Academy missed their chance with his breathtaking performance in Brokeback Mountain.

But back to my original point, I cared more about the supporting characters than I did our leading man. Christian Bale carried the mantle of Batman well enough, but he wasn't given the opportunity to make the audience truly care about how the trials were affecting him. The only time we're let in enough to see something genuine is in the interrogation scene with the Joker, and even then, he's playing second-fiddle to Ledger's utter domination in every scene he was in. Perhaps the next film will allow for Bale to flex his own formidable acting chops.

So, overall, this is definitely worth your 12$. While it may be a longer than it should be and lacks the emotional depth I'd have preferred, the questions it forces you to examine about what Batman is for the people he protects are far above and beyond what any comic-book adaptation has been able to bring to its audience. Nolan has created, in his Batman franchise, movies that take its audience seriously enough to present them with the complexities inherent in every battle between good and evil, especially when Batman is the straddler in question.

3.9 out of 5 (edited to bump it up from 3.5)