Outside

I am not a particularly outdoorsy person. By this I mean, I do not ravenously partake in outdoor sports or have too much of a wandering spirit. I do not grow restless in one spot for too long, with a fierce need to be out and about. I leave most of my wandering to be done in my mind on distant planets or in the company of dragons. Or perhaps this is just wondering. Huh.

Still, I do not get myself all in a tizzy with gatherings, shindigs, bacchanalia, and the like. I do however enjoy long walks. No, this is not an ad for eHarmony. But, I do love nature and can easily spend hours walking among trees and shrubs and listening to the birds and looking at flowers or strange shaped mushrooms or rocks that I imagine to be toes of some sleeping giant hidden under the forest floor. There I go wondering again. Adversely, I love treks into the city, especially in the summer with all the festivals and streets shut down so that people can walk where cars had dominion, and food trucks lined up and bands on every corner.  I love window-shopping and people watching, and being a tourist in my own town.

And being from where I am, when summer hits and it hits like a hammer – as my significant other said – summer is on a switch, not a fader – I am overcome with an almost guilty pang to get up out of my chair and get out. I feel it like an obligation. As if I owe the outside for all the times I have ignored it over the  long… long… long winter. As if outside had waited patiently for me to remember it was there. Now I pay penance for all the times, past and future, when I have and will be happily choosing to stay cozy indoors instead of braving the wind, rain, and obscene temperatures of winter. But now, I can no longer cling to frigid excuses and seducing hot beverages. No. I must do my duty and venture forth.

So when the days lengthen and warm, and coats are suddenly no longer necessary, and legs must finally be shaved – seriously – for shorts and skirts and swingy dresses, and the summer crooks her finger, gently at first and then more forcibly with a hooked double nostril pull, I must bend to her will. Before I know it however, there is less need for those forceful yanks. I gather lists and create plans.  I mark thick X’s as if the calendar is a treasure map and a day, a chest with a broken lock that spills doubloons. I check that sandals, sneakers and slippers are in suitable states for sortie. I dust off backpacks. I venture out, inspired by all outside has to offer.

All this to say, that I will be blogging a little less consistently over the summer months, as I follow this moral imperative to soak some vitamin D through my skin, breathe fresh air into my lungs and generally creep, arms raised, blinky-eyed and hunched, out of my hidey-hole toward the naked brazenness of outside. Of course with all this adventuring, I may very well have even more to say, but my time being finite and my sleep being necessary and my effulgence of energy being miserly, I am forced to prioritize my activities.

So here I go, into the welcoming warmer weather. Summer, she appears, festooned with fragment flowers and lit by promising dawn until waning dusk leaves like a reluctant lover. Watch me. Here I go. Kicking and screaming… Ah, poor me.

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Playing With Words

If you haven’t noticed I love making up words; verbifying nouns, twisting nouns into adjectives, playing with language. I love it when other people do the same. One of the first poems I memorized was the Jabberwocky.  I love using made up words in sentences. Heck I’ll even take acronyms. Got a few of my own. AWADJ, anyone?

It comes by me naturally. For most of my childhood, I thought the word ‘rumphled’ was a real word. It was only after several heated debates over scrabble boards and (back then) much page riffling through both dictionaries and thesauruses (thesaurisie – like an octopus-dinosaur but with more tentacles) that we discovered that it wasn’t. It was a sad day.

But why such a heated debate? Because when my father or mother said it, usually as an admonishment, it described completely and irrevocably the state of our unmade bed. Not ruffled, for that suggested a dainty frill of an embellishment, not the pillow-mangled sheet-eskewness of our linens. No. Not even rumpled, as that implied something that had tumble-weeded through our nightmares to end at the foot of our bed in a tight ball; even though we discovered that indeed rumpled was the closest to the proper word. Not unfortunately rumbled with its implication that some kind of nocturnal gang war – once upon a time known as a rumble – thank you West Side Story – had broken out and our bed the sad unkempt and dismal casualty of said disagreement. Take that bed and all of your ilk, for daring to force me into slumber. Ha ha! Alas, no, again.

Our beds were rumphled; a hodpodgery [like a menagerie but with less animals and more attitude] of all that those words implied; frilled and tumbled and combated. Apropos, as we were uncommonly contemptuous of bedtime and as we shared beds and bedrooms, our rebellion was made evident in the after math with a veracious zest. So rumphled it was, until such a time as adulthood and orneriness dashed our eloquent dreams. Strangely it was also at the same time that our war against sleep hit a denouement. We lost many battles that day.

But perhaps that is why I write science fiction and fantasy. I get to create worlds. And how do you do that? With words. Names of people and places with just a hint of exotic other worldliness to transport you there. Procedures and their accompanying gizmos for processes that don’t even exist… yet. Yeah – I’m looking at you Star Trek and your flip phone.  Adversely, words can inspire. Ever hear an exotic name and wonder at the story of the person behind it – or in my case, just make one up? I know of some people who collect interesting names. That would be a great source for inspiration.

Then there are others who mash words together. Matt Galloway, the host of Metro Morning on CBC Radio One has coined two of my favorites. Dark o’clock – the ridiculously early hour he must wake up to get to work. Mizzle – when the mist is so thick it feels like it is rain drizzling on you. I am so going to look for an opportunity to use that one in a sentence and with the way the weather is right now, it’ll be sooner rather than later. Thanks, Matt, for the inspiration. Who knows, maybe that’ll be a common weather occurrence on some distant planet in one of my science fiction books. Hmmm…gets me thinking… See what I mean! Inspiration.

And so, I will continue to use rumphled, not only as an homage to my rambunctious family, but because, imaginary a word as it is, it holds its own unique and distinct flavour. So in the hopefully not too distant future, when you read a story of mine and come across the word rumphled in a sentence, know that it is not a typo, despite spell check pinging like the dickens.

Tolkien made up an entire language. Can’t I have just one word? For now…

My First Blog Ever

What can you find here? Initial sketches. Stuff I’m working on, that I’m pouring my energies into. Things I’m perspiring over. Thoughts and ideas. What keeps me going, energizes and makes me think. Makes me feel, too. Those inspirations that I want to share. Most importantly, however, this is supposed to be fun.

Remember play? Immersing yourself into an activity, a game, a book, a craft or hobby and before you know it the street lights are on, or the sun has gone down and you are in darkness and have to switch on a light to keep going. Remember that? When time becomes so elastic, so fluid that it is more spirit than science.

Maybe you find it in your work but one wouldn’t call that play. Maybe you find it in the thing that you do that makes you, you, even if you aren’t getting paid to do it, right now. That’s still not play. These efforts require so much of you. So much care and thought and planning. So much research and analyses, pros and cons and what worked and what didn’t and what can be improved upon and next time it’ll be better. And make no mistake that is all wonderful in itself. That striving and success and failure and challenge. I love it.  But that isn’t play.

Play is frivolous and free. It is in the moment. Not one second before or after. So much of our lives are not this. But you should find it. Find it and live in it every now and then. Rest with play. Recuperate with play. Rejuvenate with play. That’s what I’m going to do here.  At least that is my hope.

I am dipping my toe into the current of social media and giving myself permission to just splash around.

There will be other sites of mine that are not like this. They will be focused and purposeful. This will not be that. This will not be perfect. This will not have a plan, accept to say, there is no plan. I will try not to be too uptight about this. I will share my imperfections and foibles and not judge myself too harshly. I will be kind. Kind to you and to myself. I may rant. I may praise. These are only my opinions, imperfect as they are. And if that’s all okay with you, you can join me.

But remember, this is supposed to be fun.