This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Sunday, October 16, 2011

The Bass, The Bass, The Bass

I feel sheepish about my lack of content, in general lately.   Maybe it's that fall vata shaking me up and making my head whip this way and that.  I received this notice in my in-box recently.
Dear Publisher,
We noticed your blog (listed below) has not updated for more than 60 days.
Blog Title | Subterranean Fire
On investigating the feed URL, we received the following error message:
Feed Error: Feed URL not working. Details : Feed URL registered with Kindle Publishing:
Kindle customers expect to receive frequent updates for blogs and news feeds to which they subscribe. Because blogs should update at least once per month, we are canceling blogs that have not updated in more than 60 days. Accordingly, if you do not fix this issue and publish new updates within 7 days, we will remove your publication from the Kindle Store.
If you have any questions or concerns, please write to us at
C'mon amazon! It hasn't been that long!  I have been doing.  I have to give myself credit, if only to stand up for myself against the eviscerating critic who's been riding my ass day and night for the last couple of weeks.  (I'm referring to myself.)  I have been! I've been making way, even it the steps are small they are being made and at least 51% of them are in the right direction! Even if it doesn't always feel that way, I must trust myself more than the angry inner critic wants to allow.  

I have been thinking about anger lately.  I did not know, in fact I'm kind of shocked, to find out what a hot head I truly am.  Damn! I'm an angry snot on the inside way more often than I ever wanted to admit.   I guess it's no surprise, though it is stereotypical (as usual), and funny, that it took becoming a wife and mother to learn that about myself.  That's the great thing about family, eh?  They love you no matter what, and it's a good thing too... Not that I've been walking around being a total jerk to my men, I think I'm a pretty good lady to be around most of the time and they are wonderfully forgiving for the times when I just lose my cool and turn into my alter ego.  I've taken to calling her Pippi Snot-Stockings and she sure does revel in pitching a tantrum streak.

It occurred to me recently that 90% of my protective layers of bull-shit have been stripped off in almost two years since I moved out here.  I used to spend so much time shellacking the protections on myself!  The clothing to convey a certain class and social status, the facial expressions to convey a certain wit and charm, the written come-ons and flirtatious exchanges to convey my most interesting and enticing qualities.  Being real, I guess, has never been a certain strong suit of mine.  I was ever insecure and so revealed little to most of the kids, teens, college chums, dates I met along my life path.  Veils came off little by little as I grew and learned to love myself more and more and I even thought I had moments of total sincerity, but now... I wonder, how could I have been truly sincere if I wasn't truly able to listen?

Oh, well.  There's that critic inside me again, and she's putting her psychoanalytical hat on to try sounding oh-so informed and deeply correct.  I bet she wouldn't enjoy me telling y'all that it just took three tries to spell psychoanalytical correctly.

I am good.  It's such a damn simple concept and such a damn difficult one to incorporate with consistent belief.

Two quotes have been floating around in my brain a lot.  The first came from an interview with a comedian on NPR's news quiz show.  He said:
I think a lot of comedians when they're really young, what they start off doing is pointing out how dumb everything else is so that you can seem smart and cool.  But what you realize as you get older is that the enemy of comedy is cool.  Cool makes you not funny.  And if you really want to connect with an audience, you've got to be very present and just going okay, guys, let me tell you about this thing I did, and just kind of admit everything that you're doing. 
I identify with this!  And you, you other writers out there reading, do you?  It totally hits home for me that I've been trying to get more and more specific about what's going on in my life, learning, and growing and that the closer I can get to writing the true reality, the better the writing and the clearer the message.  It's not that I've been dishonest before, it's that I wasn't writing the smallest nuances.  There are three thoughts for one step so often and those three thoughts lead a person to a feeling and that feeling leads to an action and it all plays out.  So what three thoughts happened in one step?  Why did I suddenly feel smaller or weepy or bursting with devotion?  Those subtle human workings are the most interesting and I want to capture them on the page.

The other quote I bumped into three times in two days.  I don't recall where I saw this, the grocery story mysteriously comes to mind, but I saw the quote written somewhere,
The miracle is not that I finished; the miracle is that I began.
Then, the following day (that is, today) this quote showed up twice in an article in a crappy promotional newspaper I was perusing.  When I say crappy I'm referring to the specific use this newspaper had for me, not its content, per se.  Did you catch the poop joke there?

It is so hard for me to begin things!  I feel silly when I'm hemming and hawing and what really needs to be done is anything; hence the weight of this statement in my mind.

Hadj's ipod is playing on shuffle right now.  We have remarked several times on how weird it is that from the thousands of songs the machine could "randomly" choose, it seems to repeatedly choose Sonic Youth, Neko Case, terrible dub step, and Skinny Puppy.  It ignores the entire discographies of Neil Young, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Talking Heads and on and on.  There are two loaves of meat in the oven.  I'm about to do some simmering, caramelizing magic on two pears I picked earlier this morning and bring them to an Autumn themed pot luck on top of a chocolate red wine cake this afternoon.   Salamander is smiling and chuckling across the kitchen table from me.  He seems to have just been dressed in a onesie with the reverent Cookie Monster on it.  I'm overdue for a jog.  And so I will begin, late as usual, but damn, hell, at least I'm going.

Oh! Before I do go; do any of you readers use the RSS?  If so, are you having problems with it?