Lepus domesticus

I thought the fox was about as close as I could get to a tiger.  : )

Happy New Year!

It's the year of Tiger, specifically the Metal Tiger. Metal Tigers are sharp and quick, and have the Tiger tendency to sudden mood swings. Impulsive Rats (ahem) must be cautious.

But, I'm an eternal optimist. The Year of the Ox plodded along, as oxen do. I just did what I did and things didn't change much. Tiger years are for sudden reversals, though not necessarily such big upheavals as Rat years. Tigers are contrary and like gambling--if your luck has been good, it might just suddenly go bad. And vice versa. Hence my optimism. Not that, objectively speaking, I have been so very unlucky, exactly. Tigers generally consider sneaky Rats beneath their notice, unless the Rat gets within snatching range. So, the plan is to skulk boldly forth and grab me some deserts for my hard work.* And yes, this very important holiday celebrated by billions across the globe is all about me. So, enjoy your moon cakes! Everything's red today anyway.

Which reminds me. In two months I'm going to be old have a birthday. I think I've gotten sentimental in my old age. Used to be I'd stomp around on St. Valentine's Day saying Bah Humbug, mutter mutter Lupercalia mutter mutter. But this year, well, at least this moment, my opinion seems to have softened. So, this is a bad impulse that might bite me with a striped coat, but here's a love poem, and a new beginnings poem. It was inspired by Riane Eisler's Sacred Pleasure (I warned you!), in whose last chapter (The New Eves and the New Adams), she envisions a creation myth with essentially the opposite message as the one in Genesis in the Bible. I'm not putting this behind a cut because I think people will be more likely to read it if they start scanning it unthinkingly in the middle while they scroll through their FLists. If it's a big inconvenience, I'll fix it. But it's not extremely long, and I certainly don't want to hide it. Also, it is probably an artifact of bad education, where we are taught that poems are all profound and entirely subjective and therefore are both hopelessly obscure and also impossible to criticize. I disagree and would love feedback on any and all of my poems (and other writing too). After all, if no one criticized the work, I would never be able to improve.

The Entrance Into Heaven: Creation Myth For the 21st Century

God is both female and male
and God is neither female nor male.

It was in a dark night of winter--
the moon held up golden horns in the West,
the shifting clouds rocked in waves beneath it,
the stars were scattered blooms in the sky--
when God created the Woman and the Man.
It was just like that, these two people
were not and then they were,
for that is the way of God:
foals are born before the dawn,
blossoms open and turn to fruit,
new leaves broaden into maturity
between the first and second rays of the sun.
These two people, Woman and Man, Man and Woman,
were as innocent as the earth:
they knew nothing of life or living,
and they knew not each other.

For a long, long time, they lived in darkness,
in the holy night of winter,
as babies live within Mother's womb,
as the dead return to Mother Planet.
When the sun rose on these two people,
sitting back to back in the world,
they did not look or know each other,
did not recognize that they were one kind.
Man and Woman dug in the dirt,
they chewed on dry grasses,
they did not see the world or the sky.
But like the plants sprouting in the morning,
at the second ray of the sun, they faced each other.
And in that moment, God in God's Wonder
smiled all around them, and gave them
Original Blessing.
And Woman and Man saw each other.
They blinked their bright eyes and they smiled on each other,
for the Original Blessing of God's Wonder
was the knowledge and desire of Love.

These two people learned a language
so they could speak to each other's hearts;
these two people walked the world
and with their eyes showed the world to each other;
these two people ate the fruits of their Mother
and felt that they were alive in a paradise;
these two people made love to each other
kissing earth and sky, embracing branch and vine,
enfolding river and pebble, mingling water and wood.
And in her sex he saw the blooming of the flower
and in his sex she saw the growing of the stem
and all around them the world was a garden
and all around them the world was a wilderness
and all around them bright colors of life opened
and all around them it was their first spring.
And the Man brought the Woman fish from the sea
and the Woman brought the Man roots from the earth
and the Man brought the Woman fruits from the sky
and the Woman brought the Man soup from the fire.

Then these two people brought forth children
and gave them all their boundless love,
for that is God's Wonder of Love,
that is the meaning of Original Blessing.
Love is fertile as the Planet, Love is everliving as All Life;
the more it is that Love is given,
the more there is of Love to give.
And the children of these two people
were of every kind and persuasion of people;
and the children of Woman and Man
embodied among them every aspect of God;
and the children of Man and Woman
bore all the Blessing of Original Love.
After that, all the people had to make their way in the world,
had to leave the Original Birthplace,
had to spread their love all over,
had to love all life on this planet,
and in their wandering and their discoveries,
their exploration of God's Wonder,
they found the entrance into heaven--
for heaven is love, and it lives in your heart.


Much love, Susie

*And if that fails, at least I can still have dessert. Sigh.

Right, remember when I said something about how "reviews" and "writing theory" were different tags and the entries I used them on were written by different parts of my brain? Well, that's true, but...See, these may look like book reviews, but in fact, I'm using my feelings about these books to jump into writerly thoughts. Really. Sort of. ANYWAY. Book Thoughts:

1. Recently read YA Fantasy: Eon by Alison Goodman. This is the first half of a two-part saga whose second part is scheduled to come out in 2010. The author, trivially, is also Australian. Both of these points are good segues into #2. This was the book I read immediately after that book that disgusted me so much, and was a really good antidote in many ways. Eon is by no means a perfect book; the writing rambles and the book could have been half as long and lost nothing of the detail or the story, and the plot was not the most intricate or complex, but there are so many things I love so very much about this book that I really don't care about the problems.

( No real spoilers and thoughts on series, also Howl's Moving Castle )
2. "Grown-up" Fantasy. I've now read all five published novels of Temeraire. This relates because Book 6 is not due out until 2010 also, and is set to take place in Australia. Here's the thing: Naomi Novik has never once taken these books in the direction I expected, and I have never once been sorry to follow her wherever she wanted to go UNTIL...

( Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, I'm Moving To Australia )

3. The book I'm currently half-way through is Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. I am attempting to remedy the very dire problem that I have only read two of Austen's books (Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I read half of Emma years ago (don't ask) and plan to start that one afresh next...or close to next. And I have seen many of the many, many, many movie versions. I've never heard of a movie version of NA, though. There must be at least one and so far I think it would make a very good one.).
 
( Men who are entirely too concerned with ladies' fashion )

Love, Susie

( Despicable Grammar, Dan Brown, Marsupial Dragons...OK, not really the last one, but close. )

I have several partial entries in the works I need to finish, but I didn't want to miss posting about today on, you know, today.

2008 was a Rat year. Specifically an Earth Rat Year. Rat, as you may know, is the first animal of the Chinese Zodiac, and as such, Rat years are years for new beginnings. But you cannot have a beginning without first having an ending. So I hope that explains some things for you--as it does for me.  : )  Earth Rats crave stability and as such are conservative and pragmatic. (Looking at politics this year, this is not surprising--yes, even the victory of the Democrats in many places--Democrats these days are seen as moderates, whereas the Republicans are radicals...And you have to admit, there is something comfortingly normal about Obama, isn't there? No Mavericks for Us.) Earth Rats are also sometimes known to be stingy with money...also easily applied to this year. They very much dislike wild risk-taking. They are also (as all Rats are) very close to and loyal to their families, so if things in your life this year seemed to focus on your immediate family and family life, that may be why.

Rats are also quick-witted and honest, so I think you can feel confident that any major decisions made in this year have every possible chance of success, especially because next year is the year of the Earth Ox, which is the steadiest and most reliable of all the zodiac signs. Slowly and steadily, the Earth Ox will work to the best of his ability, achieving any realistic ambition with openness and integrity.

So, Rat Year--new beginnings, but not quick results. Whatever foundations you've laid this year might take many years to come to fruition, but if you thought carefully before you acted, things will come about the way you want them to. And next year, we can look forward to hard work that will bring results. Next year is the year to make big decisions and see them through, even as this year was all about planning and dreaming and preparing to start over.

Rat Years, especially for Rats, are years of introspection and self-knowledge. And indeed, it has been for me. I've learned a lot of things about myself--none of it new, mind you, just a little knowledge that made things clearer. And it's that clarity of thought for which I will remember this year. It was not a bad year. Neither was it a good year. It was a wonderful year, in the way that sudden thoughts are wonderful, in the way that knowledge is wonderful, even if what you know makes you unhappy. It is full of wonder--amazement that life could be so complicated and so painful and so beautiful all at the same time. That's what I mean. Discoveries are always wonderful, even if they are bad. And if I've discovered a lot about myself and things that matter to me, than that was wonderful, too. And I hope that whatever changed for you this year will prove to be a good change, or at least one you can be contented with, and I wish you all the best for the year to come.

And technically, of course, the Year is not over until January 26th. So, be warned. But 2008 is over know. It was a pretty year--nice round numbers.  ; )  And also, if you are annoyed by this post, blame Elmo. He gave me the Chinese Astrology book.  : )

Love, Susie

I'm in a rambling mood today...First of all, I have to say, I'm pretty excited. My littlest nepot, Rain, can STAND!!! He's 18 months old now, but he can pull himself up with a chair and stand. To say I'm excited about this is actually an understatement.

Two, I'm going to put off Part Three of my long cosmic theorizing (because it involves a question I don't want to ask today) and instead talk about writing. (Huzzah!) Darcy Pattison talks about the way writing is something of a digestive process. You see, writers, in a sense, vomit words when they're creating a first draft of something. I'm sorry for the disgusting metaphor (especially when you think of the editing process as finger-painting with the regurgitant and then showing the resulting product to readers with a grin and a "Isn't that purty?").
           One must gorge onself on words in order to facilitate this process. So, how do you do that? How do you (yes, you, personally) find your inspiration? (as it is more poetically called by people with more delicate sensibilities than myself.) For instance, I find that watching movies gets me creating scenes in my head, but only reading a really good book can help me put words down on paper. (Currently, I'm reading Middlemarch, which is having a visible impact on The Comedy in certain areas, though of course, the stories are vastly different, and indeed, I'm not sure anyone but myself could point out the influences.) There is a temptation when writing a story to lock yourself away from all outside contact, in the hope that it will give your work a "pure" voice. Unfortunately, only reading over your own words results in a kind of auto-cannibalism, where the same words and thoughts go in and out indefinitely until they are devoid of all flavor and nutriment, thus having the opposite effect from the one desired--the tired words that are clearly over-edited and provide no inspiration to the reader, nor pleasure to the author. Many "literary novels" end up like this, partially why they can get very tiresome to read. Indeed, whenever I hear an author bragging that a certain book took him ten years to write, I immediately suspect him of this deviant behavior (auto-cannibalism) and I am disinclined to read the book.
          Of course, one must edit, but that is a completely different post. Perhaps I am unusual...I find that my first draft looks remarkably similar to my final draft in many ways. For one thing, I never start writing without knowing where I'm going. Partly because I'm a highly organized Rat, and partly because I have a fear of getting lost (don't even get me started on that one--let me just say: Susie is seven. We are in a rainforest in a foreign country. Entire family disappears.), I always have the basic plot arc in mind, and usually have a pretty thorough outline (in fact, I write best when I do). The editing process for me involves the very difficult chore of tweaking scenes and dialogue and descriptions to close any plot holes, and occasionally rearranging certain bits of action to make the story flow faster, and then the considerably easier, but time consuming, process of making sure every sentence reads well aloud.
          Lately, I've found that I must eat constantly while I'm working (in the metaphorical sense, in fact I probably eat less actual food when I'm really working because writing makes me happy) in order to write consistently. And indeed, the more I read while writing (obviously not while writing, but if I read a lot before bed and sleep on those words and digest them, I wake up in the morning ready to write and write a lot.), the better my writing is and the faster I get it out. So, I want to know, is this a good analogy? And do you do the same thing? And what works for you?

And because I'm totally not over this yet, here's my favorite bit of dialogue (OK, this and the "they shrink when they marinate" bit) from the same source whence came the subject line:

"Why would a guy want to marry another guy?"
"Security."

And another quote from Richard F. Burton, because I'm weird that way: "[...A]ll morality is, like conscience, both geographical and chronological."
AND
"But strange and unpleasant truths progress slowly, especially in England."  (OK, I find that last one really funny)

Love, Susie

P.S. Check out this post by YA author Justine Larbalestier. The future's so bright, I gotta...yeah, yeah.

Dear Readers,

I had so much I wanted to share with you, but since I got so busy, I feel almost like it would be better to start from scratch. I've been thinking a bit about where I started here and where I've come... I remember clearly the moment when I realized that everything on the internet is controlled by this thing called HTML, and that if I could only figure out the code, I could create anything I wanted to create here. The brief, momentary urge to become a computer programmer--or whatever the people who do this stuff are called nowadays--struck me. And then, I thought about how complicated and time-consuming it would be to start such a career now, for what I considered very little reward. All this technology that other people get so excited about seems mostly meaningless to me, still. I have no desire to go out and buy an iPhone for instance, which I know makes me insufferably weird. And for a long time I had no desire to share my innermost thoughts with the world. If zibbycomix  hadn't pushed me, I never would have done this at all. In fact, it seems appropriate to mention Zibby today, as she just posted something involving me. (I swear it was funnier as it was happening, although for those of you who wonder how scripted celluloid_redux  really is...you may wish to read it. It's short. And I invented a pretty awesome word.)  ; )  But, I've become so much more confident lately. I realize that doesn't mean much to those of you who don't really know me. Indeed, on these pages I probably seem overconfident, maybe even annoyingly so. It's the Dragon part of me, of course, but it's not all of me. I'm often surprised by how much shyness and reserve and doubt I have overcome to get to this point, and though you haven't all seen the process, I hope you can enjoy the results. And I'll try not to be so annoying. : )
       One of the things I love about Zibby's blog-thing, is she calls it the "Diary of a Hufflepuff." Something about that suggests muddling through in some ways, digging along without really knowing where you're going, but hoping you will one day wind up somewhere. I think all writing is like that in some ways, but diary-ing especially. After all, this is my life, and the idea that anyone else is interested in it at all is still amazing. I feel unworthy of the attention somehow, and yet I crave it too. Is there a latent part of every person's being that wants to be just a little bit famous? Who just wants to feel loved? Of course.
       And I've been thinking about beginnings, and roots. This journal started as a record of my book--one, concrete journey from idea to (hopefully) shelves. I don't know if I'll get there, but I rather think I will. And I expect I'll keep this journal for a while longer, as a place to ramble and rant and annoy people I don't know.  : )  But, I also kind of think of this journal as my training wheels. Ideally, when I get an agent and then a publisher for my books, I will have a website with its own blog for professional things--solely focused on writing and book-related-things. But for now, I am only here, and only stumbling along in the dark looking for interesting things--to eat, to sniff, to explore, and perhaps to write about. And I hope some people will choose to follow along in my ever-more-convoluted sett to see if they might also like to see what I find. (Did you notice the badger metaphor? Wasn't that fun?)  : )
       Which makes me think of Sorting. I think as an eleven-year-old I would have wanted to be a Ravenclaw--proving how smart I was became a constant activity in my school years--I desperately wanted people to be impressed by me. By the time I entered my Junior year of high school, however, that desire ha diminished somewhat (although it obviously did not disappear--why else would I want to be a writer?). At that age, though, I think I would have been sorted into Gryffindor, as I've always been defined by my heart, even as I longed to be recognized by my brain. I was a lot like Hermione, actually, as a kid. But Gryffindors have a kind of self-righteousness I think that, though I would have agreed with it at the time, I now find annoying--especially when one finds oneself on the "wrong" side. So, I would have embraced my Gryffindorness with gusto, and then been rather ashamed of myself as I aged. So, I think if the hat were omniscient and placed me in the House that was best for me, I would have been put in Hufflepuff. I wished I'd learned sooner how important it is to be kind, and I certainly would have been happy there--hard work and fair play are things I value very highly, and, as ever, my loyalty knows no bounds. And it would be a comfort to be on the ground, not in some tower, and to shine somehow more collectively, to know that I'd always belong. Interestingly, the House I think I would have no place in is Slytherin, but not because I don't like it. Indeed, I am angry at the way The Author made one house the House of All Evil, because I think in many ways the Slytherins are misunderstood--particularly by the hot-headed and sanctimonious Gryffindors.* I simply am not particularly cunning or ambitious. Obviously I have some ambition to be a successful writer, but I also have a kind of fixed contentment in where I am. If nothing ever changed at all, I would be a little disappointed, but somehow I would learn to push on, always believing that something good would turn up around the next corner...or the next one...or the next one. And as for cunning...well, I wear my heart on my sleeve and always have. It's not very conspicuous, so some people don't notice it. But it's always there. And the occasional bit of bravado or self-depricating humor is merely defense. I think a Slytherin could make a good friend, though. Heck, I think everybody could make a good friend! And that's why, in the end, I love the badgers best.  ; )
       And in the spirit of trying new things, I have attempted to embed a video of our outfitter H.A. Moore reciting one of his poems. I think he told it a little better to us, actually. Not sure how old the video is--probably ten years, maybe less, maybe more. Anyway, still lots to tell about yesterday, and about why I'm cruel to fictional characters...Why do I make them suffer, and especially to live without love? Is it because I want them to be like me, or because it serves the plot? But of course I invent the plot, so it must be the same thing.  : )  But, like all good things, it must wait.  : )

Post for you again tomorrow!

Love, Susie

P.S. Also forgot to mention I wrote for an hour this morning, and felt great about it, but didn't do a word count. Argh! It's been far too long...  : )

*Another reason why I think the whole thing is happening inside Harry's head. ("I have this idea for a one-man Hamlet. You see, it's all happening inside Hamlet's head, so you only need one actor!")  Hee hee. This is why Elmo needs to read my Journal..."Off...Off...Broadway..."

Sigh. So, I am resigned to the fact that I have suddenly become extremely uninteresting. I did meet a very friendly cat today...I should have a cat again. But you see, thinking about cats makes me feel unloved. My horrible landlords won't let me have a cat. They'll let some homeless woman and her homeless cat have the run of half the house, but I am not allowed to have a cat. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, it's a petty complaint, right? There's world hunger and extinction and rampant ignorance and I feel kind of sad when, say, I go for a hike, brave a sheer drop off by crawling on my hands and knees and somebody asks the woman behind me if she's all right and offers her a hiking stick, and then there is no lunch, and I go sit in my tent alone and shiver. And yeah, sometimes I feel a little unloved. I don't feel unliked really, but knowing that people like you is somehow worse, you know? And part of it must be related to being a Rat--nobody gives rats things. Rats must take, and it feels so wrong sometimes...

Anyway, at our first camp, a huge grizzly bear watched us from a good distance the first night and walked through the kitchen the second night...I'm really, really afraid of bears, you know, and I was glad I didn't know he was in camp that second night until afterwards. He was very dark with golden fur on his shoulders. I only saw him briefly, but that was enough for me. On the second day in the second camp I spotted a wolf. Well, actually, the buckskin mare spotted it, and I came over to see what was bothering her. The wolf was not large, but was black with some white fur on its (her?) neck. She was only about thirty feet from my tent when I first spotted her, in the woods. She moved out into the open quickly, though, and was sniffing in the sage for something edible. Frida the mule didn't like that, however, and chased the wolf out of the camp. Still, it was exciting to see a wolf so close (wolves don't scare me at all), and we heard them howling all night, which was thrilling. H.A., who is not overly fond of wolves, as many Montanans aren't, still said, "You hear that, and you know you're really here, don't you?" Yes, exactly. And the first day at the third camp, a big bull bison walked through (I'm quite nervous about bison). Frida thought hard about trying to drive him off too. She marched up to him and he looked at her and raised his tail (a major danger sign in bison), but she stopped then and just kind of stared him down until he ambled out of camp again. The horses were really happy in that camp, too. Pedro and Cowboy played very intensely for about two hours that last evening, biting each other and galloping around and stirring up everybody else. It was really fun to see them running free in the meadow with the bells ringing. It was timeless, and reassuring, and beautiful. They let the horses run loose in camp instead of tying them because it's much easier on the land and the plants. The horses wander throughout about a mile wide circle around the camp throughout the night. In the evening, they would come right into the kitchen area looking for treats, and were such a nice friendly presence in the camp. I felt very safe knowing they were around.

Anyway, that's about the extent of the wildlife we saw on the trail. We heard no elk, though we found tracks and scat of both elk and deer (and fox and weasels too and plenty of bear scat). The only birds we really saw were a few redtailed hawks, two bald eagles and one immature golden eagle at the Lamar River Trailhead at the end of the trip. Maybe a mourning dove and a bluebird or two, and a pair of grey jays at the last camp. Unexpectedly disappointing, really. So, for me, the only really big highlight of the trip, the only thing that one has to backpack in deep into the park to see, the only thing that really made the trip worthwhile for me, was seeing the standing trunks of the petrified trees on the last day. It was a short, but difficult hike along the river (the trees are exposed by the river cutting into the bank) to reach them. I admit, I hugged one.

Also at that last camp, there was a warm spring feeding the river which was full of hundreds of little suckers of various sizes, as well as a dozen small native frogs. That was nice.

But we saw much more wildlife the day after the trip when we returned to the Lamar Valley briefly before heading home. We drove out of Gardiner (The river and the man are spelled Gardner. The town is literally a typo.) and met with elk in Mammoth. Then we drove on the scenic oneway road along Blacktail Plateau and saw three more deer, including a young buck who sneaked up on me before very gracefully trotting back to his mother, and an adult buck with large antlers and his smooth autumn coat growing in beautifully. As we drove farther, we also saw a flock of American pipits--a very exciting addition to my life list!--and a flock of five bighorn ewes (not a lamb between them, sadly) running from one safe perch to the next. Lots of other birds too. And in the Lamar Valley, we finally found the pronghorns--many fine bucks and two large herds of does and fawns staging for their migration, as well as tons (literally) of bison. One herd was being pursued by an enormous flock of starlings (they are related to oxpeckers, you know). And we saw a coyote, and many wonderful water birds of various kinds including two I had not yet seen this year--a pied-billed grebe (actually it was a chick, but it ducked into the reeds, presumably after its mother, shortly after I identified it) and a pair of pintails. All the ducks were flighted, but still in their eclipse plumage. Ruddy ducks, goldeneyes, blue-winged and cinnamon teals, mallards, scaups, ringnecks, wigeons, and also coots, which are not ducks, but rails.

And before I forget, on the day we left, we had spent the night at Lake, and saw five mule deer and a snowshoe hare around the cabins as we went down to breakfast. I do love to see hares. We really don't see them very often, and obviously, hares (especially snowshoes) are near and dear to my heart.  : )  Oh yes, and that evening we came off the horses and were driving to Gardiner for our much-needed hot showers and delicious four-course meal at Pedalino's, which was entirely vegetarian, thank goodness, we saw a badger trotting along the side of the road! I wished I could have seen it longer, but at least now I've seen a badger. It was surprisingly like a slinking cat in its movements, and just as beautiful and cute as I'd hoped.

And we returned home to find a young redtail hanging around the yard--I assume it's the chick of our resident pair. I've seen him twice now--very handsome little fellow. Interestingly, immature redtails have yellow irises, which turn brown some time during their second year. They also have barred brown tails. I've also heard the elk bugling in the yard a bit, including this morning on my walk, and one bull completely destroyed one of our young aspens by rubbing his antlers on it. He completely stripped the bark for four feet on one side and tore off lots of branches. The tree might recover and it might not. You see, Nature is not really in harmony or anything. It's violent and destructive and chaotic, and that's the only way it works. I still love it though.  : )

I had lots more to say about other things, but I've pretty much filled this post, so I'll leave it as is. I will just mention how disappointed I am that no one has identified any of the quotes in my subject lines. Well, I know them all. That makes me feel smart. And once again, I'm the only person in the room...

Love, as ever, Susie

P.S. Oh yeah! I forgot to mention that H.A. is a cowboy poet and recited a number of things to us on that fourth night (after he'd had a cup of something highly alcoholic), including Robert Service's "The Cremation of Sam Magee." Someone pursuaded me to recite something the next night--not sure how I agreed to it, especially as the only poem I know is "Paul Revere's Ride." I thought it was wildly inappropriate, but people seemed to enjoy it. Oh dear, I'd better get to work on that polar bear poem, hadn't I? Hmm...Where does the time go? Really. I want to know.

This has been a very strange week. A certain project I meant to have online for your ignoring viewing pleasure was delayed because some things about Live Journal are incredibly stupid. Also, I've been very busily working on my Current Project, AKA The Book, and frankly my hands are really tired from typing. So, I don't think I'll write much here today, even though, as usual, I have lots to say. I am feeling a bit scatterbrained too--the trouble with having your thoughts mostly occupied by an Alternate Universe 9th Century Cornwall all day... (Did I say it was Arthurian? Would I write an Arthurian story? Why on Earth would you think that?) Some news: The guests who were supposed to come to the Swan Roundup on Friday now can no longer come. On the one hand, I'm really sorry I won't get to see and host fun nature-loving people; on the other hand, I no longer have to worry about how to feed and entertain them while also attending the writers conference. (I guess I really have no excuse not to go to that cocktail party tomorrow night now, do I?) Fate, perhaps?

A couple of things really surprised me this week too. Elmo did all our Chinese Astrological Signs (with the help of Wikipedia. As Elmo says, "Wikipedia: the source of all knowledge!" which sounds vaguely alchemical to me, or something...). I had no idea he cared. Darn monkeys always catch you by surprise.  ; )  I won't reveal more than outward signs here for anyone else, as it seems a bit too personal, but for those who know about it, I'm a Yang Wood Rat with both an Inner and Secret Dragon. So...that means I'm very quiet and unassuming (and organized!*), but I secretly want to be flamboyant and attractive. Actually, I was rather encouraged by the "reading" as Dragons tend to suffer early in life and find happiness later, so there is still hope for me. Also, Rats tend to have to work very hard for success. Things do not fall into Rats' laps. They have to go out and get them (often at night, while no one is watching).  ; )  Also, this year (the Year of the Rat) is supposed to be a mixed bag for Rats, and I'm certainly finding that to be the case. Career success is predicted however. I guess I'll know by Sunday afternoon...I like Chinese Astrology, actually. It has a heavy emphasis on Destiny of course, and in theory, you could chart your entire fate with a few complicated calculations. I don't believe in fate really, but the idea that certain possibilities are guaranteed to be open for you is encouraging. Of course, the best thing about Dragons is that they're lucky.  ; )

The Homeless Person is moving out soon (theoretically. I haven't talked to her in weeks). I think she may have already moved her cat, as I haven't heard him for a couple days, though earlier in the week he was wandering around the yard (semi-supervised), and meowed at me. We hired a cleaning team to clean that part of the house (in preparation for a musician to stay this July--more on that later, I'm sure) on the 2nd. They came today. I explained (with difficulty, due to a language barrier) that they needed to come next week, as there was nothing for them to do yet, since the Homeless Person is still here. Meanwhile, the person in charge of housing for the Music Festival keeps asking for the keys, which I can't give to her yet. And she wants to inspect the room, which is so despicably dirty I don't want to go in there. No damage or anything, I don't think, but the Homeless Person is really messy, and my inner Rat is very distressed by disorder. (Oh, my Rat's nest looks disorganized to outsiders, but I assure you, I know exactly where every little scrap of paper is. Except I couldn't find something this morning...But I'm pretty sure where it really is, I just didn't bother to look...Really. I swear. I left a scent trail...Yes, of course I know another name for a woodrat is a pack rat. I only keep valuable, shiny things like illegible notes on torn scraps of notepaper. What do you take me for, a slob?) ANYWAY...so, not sure what to do there, except talk to the H.P. and see what's up. I don't mean to sound like I'm pushing her to leave. She's actually very nice and I've enjoyed having her around. Our schedules rarely overlap, but when they do, she's a pleasant conversationalist, and really quite an interesting person. I'm sure the musician won't be more fun, and I do wonder what will happen to my work if by chance we get a violinist or something...That room is right next to mine, after all. Silly to worry yet, I know. And at least we know exactly how long the musician will stay...

In other news, Elmo tells me the Final of the 2008 Euro Finals Football (real football) Tournament will show on ABC at 2:45 p.m. EDT, or 12:45 here. No idea who's playing or what's happened so far (the tournament lasts 2 weeks). I don't care much for professional football, though. I watched the last World Cup avidly, but it was pretty terrible. Maybe the athletes aren't such overpaid prima donnas this year? Nah.

Also there are lilacs in bloom everywhere! (Except in my yard.)  : (  They are all over town though, not that that's incentive enough to get me to drive to the Post Office...

PLUS, I think I may have found my purpose in life!** But I'll write about that later, as I'm tired now.

Also, does anyone else think a DVR should not have to be reset every single time you record one thing with it? I don't understand technology. So many more things to write about...some other time. But here's another quote (see subject line) from the movie I saw last night (which I really needed, by the way), "Only two people in the world do that--Orson Welles and me."

So...Johnny Depp in a dress...Do I like this because a) there's something really wrong with me, or b) it's Johnny Depp? I'll leave that to more rested minds to ponder. The mists of Fair Elfland are calling to me...

--Susie

*"They're chickens! They don't plot, they don't scheme, and they're not organized!!"
**"You see, even those creatures that don't seem to have a purpose really do have a purpose...You might say it's the noblest purpose of all."

 Today is my birthday. I am 24. It seems to me this year should be going better for me than it has been so far, after all, it is my year, i.e. the Year of the Rat. I am (proudly) a rat. Perhaps your year is not the year when everything goes right for you. Perhaps it's just when all the hidden parts of your personality become most apparent. In that case, then, it seems logical that this year I would be filled with self-doubt, which is I think Rat's greatest fault. And I am. So I decided, as a motivation I suppose, to start a Journal on my birthday and continue to keep it for a year. The hope is that here I will record my thoughts and progress and by the time my next birthday comes around, when I will be a quarter of a century old, I will have achieved the goals I lay out here today, namely to get my next book in the secure grasp of a publisher--a real publisher--and feel I have finally earned the right to call myself an author, even though I've been a writer for many years. Because, you see, I think the difference between an author and a writer is more than just verb tense. A writer writes. An author wrote. But, like the proverbial tree that falls in the forest unwatched by human eyes, if a writer's work goes unread, has she been utterly wasting her time?
      I hope to post some of my writing here in the future, although that is a sticky thing to do, as technically, any writing posted online is essentially published, even if nobody reads it. I will try to put up some previously published poems and I actually have a little short story in mind that would be inappropriate to post anywhere else, but more on that some other day.
      So. Who am I? Why am I here? Where do I live? Firstly, I am a writer. That is my vocation. It is the only thing in the world I have really enjoyed doing and that has given meaning to my life. I do not write anything lightly, and hope that my view of the world is sufficiently different and interesting as to be important to others. In the meantime, I hope that my thoughts here will amuse you and give you something to think about that you might not have thought about before. My interests are wide and varied, and I hope to explore them all here as time goes by. I will keep all my entries public for the simple reason that the internet is never as private as some believe and if something is so personal I only want to share it with my real-life friends, I will tell them by other means. I will not be afraid to bare my soul here, though, as that's what writers really do.
      Why is my name here Lepus domesticus? Because it's obscure. That's all. I am a sucker for bad puns, word games, and esoterica. It is scientific Latin meaning a domestic, or tame, hare. I got that from W.B. Yeats' poem "Two Songs of a Fool" whose first line is "A speckled cat and a tame hare." It is not my favorite poem of his, though he is my favorite poet, but I chose it because I have often felt like The Fool, but I relate more to the hare than to the cat. The speckled cat will wander out of the house away from the hearth and have his adventures and then return and sit smugly by the fire as cats are wont to do. The hare on the other hand, desperate to stretch her long, long legs will dash out into the woods, leaping and pirouetting as hares are wont to do, and may find herself at last on the table of the hunter, which neither cat nor fool will ever do. The hare's position is the most perilous, and she therefore represents life. We may be as secure as we like before the fire on the worn rug that has adorned our home for centuries, but eventually, we have to go out into the woods, we have to leap, and then we are in danger. So I'm leaping.
      Where am I? My home is my center and very much defines me. It is a lovely cloudy day today and I will talk about the weather and my wild neighbors often on this blog ("Journal"). Today, however, I will only say this: Last year for my birthday I had daffodils. This year, there is too much snow. I saw some swallows floating by around noon, however, and a butterfly beat its sharp dark wings against my window. The nutcrackers are hoarsely chattering in the douglas-firs on the hill, protecting their new nest from the deep brown dark phase redtail and her mate, who like to perch up there and catch the wind. And the ravens are always soaring overhead and calling. In case you couldn't tell from my userpic, ravens are very important to me, and to see them floating effortlessly and to hear their throaty rasps and caws and to watch them tumbling over and over in the high wind like so many black feathered clouds, always brings joy to my heart.
     Happy birthday to me! Here's to a good year and all it brings!! And here's to all the things I bring to you who read here!
                                                                                                                                                                  -Susie