RIP TT

It is not the greatest of tragedies when an old man dies, however great you think him. A full life is a tribute in itself and enough to be grateful for. But still. As always when a hero of my is no longer among the living I'm torn between grief and happy memories of what they have meant for me.

Fare thee well Tomas Tranströmer.

Allegro
 After a black day,I play Haydn,and feel a little warmth in my hands.The keys are ready.Kind hammers fall.The sound is spirited,green, and full of silence.The sound says that freedom existsand someone pays no tax to Caesar.I shove my hands in my haydnpocketsand act like a man who is calm about it all.I raise my haydnflag.
he signal is:“We do not surrender. But want peace.”The music is a house of glass standing on a sloperocks are flying, rocks are rolling.The rocks roll straight through the housebut every pane of glass is still whole.

No more office supplies

Dear dear reader,

The yet-another-limitation of which I will speak now, has been set a few weeks ago, but since it is one I find very difficult to keep, I have been silent for now.

The thing is that I'm trying to save some money for the ultimate box of pencils (and/or the ultimate box of water soluble wax pastels) and the only expense left to economise on is purchase of office and art supplies. It makes great sense to not spend anything before I can spend it on the last thing I will ever need or want (or so I think).

Dream with me....

I am Charlie - I follow Charlie

It is no secret that I live in a country geographically, politically and culturally near France. And as 99,99% of my country men, I dare say my fellow Europeans I was utterly shocked by Wednesday's news of an attack on the redaction of the French political magazine 'Charlie Hebdo'. Shocked twofold.

First of course because of the attack itself. Even though I regret to say such a thing is to be expected, every religious, political or cultural view (for lack of a better word I had nearly written 'genre') has it's fanatics and it is only luck that most extremists are simply too stupid to organise their thoughts into actions that saves us from an attack/ killing spree/ threat of violence every day. But I like independent journalism and I'm an artist (though be it in training), it is almost as if some far of relative or that guy you used to know but never kept in touch with just died. You fear for the end of everything you think important or take for granted.

Secondly the reactions to the attack. When a killing spree of this size is claimed by any organisation or made in the name of such and such beliefs a strong antipathy against that group is the usual and predictable response. And it has been so now,... marginally. Marginally from my point of view.  Even in the non-extremist camp of the intellectual spectrum the stupid are in a vast majority but no longer overwhelmingly so and what pleases me most. The media are seen to write sense.

#jesuischarlie = I am Charlie and for me means that I feel for every family member, every colleague, every friend lost to a lack of selflessness.

#jesuischarlie = I follow Charlie and that means for me be bold. Be bolder than ever, fight with words, with pictures, with laughter, with music with everything you have. Fight for ever against violence unprovoked by other violence.

We have a winner

Once again. And I'm proud to announce that this year it took me a great deal less effort than it has the years before. I'm starting to find my groove I think. And for those who are curious about the word count it's 55077. Of which about 2/3 is doomed once editing December comes around the corner. Also the official website puts my word count at 55171 after validation. But I've decided to believe my word processor.

For every still typing away: best of luck!

A truth unacknowledged.

Writing provokes more writing.

It is as simple as that. It sounds contradictory but such are my paradoxical findings. When confronted with writer’s block in one project/ article/ book/ paper, ... just start working on something else! This spells unfinished project in mile high letters on bare hill sides. I am aware of that. But that is more a matter of discipline. This blog post for example is not written so much for the purpose of getting aforementioned hypothesis across but to keep me writing. Inevitably when I press the orange 'publish' button, I must continue writing and thus shall be compelled nay forced to continue the quest for 3000 words.

#NaNoWriMo FTW!

The writing bug - revisited

In so much that the previous post did not make it clear: contrary to what I have announced on this very blog a week since. I am one of those idiots seeking to distil a plot from thin air and not being able to close my eyes for the shortest of naps as  long as my word count is under par.

%sigh%

Any source of caffeine or inspiration is most welcome.

I'm a cheat

Check my word count!

If you are not one of us. Don't bother trying to make sense out of it. Some people grow a moustache in November. Some people write novels.

The Writing Bug

Not as exciting to watch or as entertaining to partake in as the jitterbug, I should imagine. Sure it excites and entertains ME to be creating a story all in my head and then pour in on page after page but I can not expect the entire world to share my enthousiasm.

A week from now (or thereabouts); on the first of November: is NaNoWriMo -time again. And it pains me to admit that I will not be a part of it this year. Four three-hour evening classes a week and  classical concertladen weekends make it quite impossible. To complete the challenge I've set myself: one complete A4 drawing every day and 50 bonus drawings on a smaller page size, will be quite enough to occupy my scarce free moments.

However Herculean the task, it stings a little NOT to subject myself to a very strict deadline and a lot of stress, my stomach is grateful for all the caffeine I shall not be neccitated to consume and my heart bleeds and rejoices for the brave souls that take up arms.

Good hunting all, and may the plot be with you.

Bright Sunshine

For fear that this might become one of those horrible horrible 'look-what-I've-got'-blogs, I doubted almost four second weither or not to post the picture below. But just look at it! It's super-flat, super-light, has a German keyboard and it's sunshine yellow. What's not to like?

It's been seven months and fifteen days...

... or thereabouts. Even my references to lyrics are getting worse. But with was is commonly called summer of even summer holidays two weeks under way- despite it being neither summer or (for me) a holiday- the busy busy busy excuse is no longer applicable. Surely if I can manage an hour daily of checking and checking again for new e-mails, it shouldn't be that hard to write the occasional blogpost, should it?

It's not that I no longer want to write. But what to write about? The subjects that I was so fond of as a student or even in the early days of employment no longer hold any interest for me. Or when they do, I find them too childish or unimportant to even admit that I take an interest.

Is this what it is like: to grow up?

Writing Frenzy

Tonight's the night.

And I might gonna make it happen. It'll just take a little longer than one night. But one second past midnight is the beginning of National Novel Writing Month. As you will read on the official website : 30 days, 50,000 words! One month, one novel.

All previous attempts of mine have indeed reached the 50K mark but to call them novels would be rather .... well: wrong. This year I promise to do better.  And if life doesn't interrupt me too often, I will even promise to keep you up to date.

 

Message in a Bottle

I tend to write down my frustrations, in order to be able to let go of them. Being confused in the last few months about two relatively recent crushes, I had decided to simply write them. Since actually sending the letters might be too confrontational, I'm sending the letters by bottle. The river runs past both their houses so...

51°02'N, 03°42'E

I seem to not be able to help it. Once again I've been asked to contribute to a shared blog, and of course I've said yes. It's public so feel free to visit. I should warn thee all that it's in Dutch though.For those who speak the language, it's pretty obvious what my column title is. Feedback will as always be appreciated.

Writing Letters

Forever I have had pen friends, very few have lasted for more than years and even fewer the once I'm still writing. And only one friend have I ever stopped writing to resume sending letters two years later and actually getting a reply.

The joy, as you may imagine is hard to fathom. But even more than finding a message only for me in the postbox I enjoy the act of writing. And I will happily indulge.

Fonts

You Are Andale Mono

You are a geek, pure and simple. You spend a lot of time online. In fact, you probably love the internet more than anyone you know. You are picky about design, mostly for readability's sake. You are the type most likely to be irritated by a bad font.

What Font Are You?

Blogthings: Discover the Parts of Your Personality that Have Been Hiding

The explanation might be true, but I don't really like Andale Mono to be honest.

NaNoWriMo

I'm competing. What else did you expect?! I owe myself this indulgence. Check for updates here.

So how about you?

Rant VI (or thereabouts)

I don't enjoy my art class as I used to. Which pains me greatly since giving up is an option I deleted from my spellbook.

Why is it that I can acknowledge the fact not being a good artist and yet take classes and courses expecting to learn, yet feeling all the more frustration that this selfimposed hours of eductaion steal from me the time I would like to spend writing, something that I'm actually good at.

Dare I venture that I had better taken a creative writing course? Something I would never do for fear my one talent would be smothered with artificiality or worse prove too weak for criticism to nourish it and be broken.

Bah.

Extraordinarities

I had intended an update on how life back at the art academy is going, then later I intended one on some fortunate unexpected encounters, even later I wanted to share my workrelated frustration and then how I have had a serious open and construvtive converstaion with my superiors ( I wish to have it known explicitly that I mean here superior in company rank, in all other respects I will not be made to feel inferior).

But inspiration isn't bubbling and if it would be, I would be writing my private live in gold ink on black paper with red hot words, breathing lust, brutal passion, physical angry temptious sensuality and...

ehm not a shred of reality.

Typewriter

The near mirror-image of my latest write-related acquisition: Paul Desmond Newman. A Type-writer as you may have guessed.