Or visit my new post, “Frequently Asked Questions” if you prefer the Q&A style.
Amanuensis is the name I chose to describe what I have become. A writer-scribe who takes dictation from the very thoughts flying around in my head before, during and after I dream. It is also my own personal nickname. Most nicknames are the pet names that friends and family create for you whether you hate them or not. I mean the people and the name. The name may have to do with something that occurred 40 years prior. I will never be called “Precious” or “Sweety.” As a female metal sculptor who works in copper, brass, bronze, steel and silver, I have to appear severe to be taken seriously. Most people ask me if I make jewelry, when I tell them I weld…
I make in words and objects.
Somehow, along the way, I became a breeder. I never intended to have four children and yet they seem to exist. The statement “Mother: Three Boys One Girl” is dry, like the names of my sculptures: Sunflower #12, Big Sunflower, Mini enamel flower. I may discuss them, but they have their own forum-elsewhere. I am three children past the documentation of their lives phase. I am still amazed by them all, beautiful creatures, but after 17 plus years, I have to rediscover the flavor in the tootsie-pop. Hard candy exterior, soluble, but you really do have to soak me to get me to reveal the tasty bits.
I have a feeling that when the weather improves my blog will be less dark. I am an organic gardener of vegetables, flowers, medicinal and edible herbs and competing invasive plants. There will be nature to describe and photography that could make me happy. Which translates into fun light poetry instead of obscure dark references to my ever twitching hormones. I do yoga as I weed, or I used to before it all went to hell. Yeah, my neighbors think I’m a little odd.
I’m trying to get back up out of depression and anxiety. It is a sinkhole that follows you around, not quicksand, there is no slow descent, you just step off the cliff that you never saw. It’s like walking quickly in the fog without paying attention to the fact that you may hit a tree, or step off the edge. The good thing about depression, (did I really say that,) is that you never die when you fall. Sure, you scare yourself to death. You might have a concussion. Need to sit still for a week eating Tofutti and listening to Morrissey.
Woah! I just got back from a two hour internet departure on wikipedia. I meandered down the bunny trail of Morrissey, Mike Joyce, The Cure, Robert Smith, The Guardian, Bruce Springsteen, Caroline Sullivan, Courtney Love and wound up at Kurt Brindley http://kurtbrindley.com .
Extra thoughts:I have always been a singer. I can’t write about it. What should I write about singing? Why should I write about my voice? It is another part of the me that is not anonymous.
I believe in vernal pools. I feel for the creatures that are very slowly losing all of their natural habitat. Living next to a forest is a gift. It is one of my tethers to sanity.
This is my style of writing in the mornings. When I rein it in, it can be a brief poem-y thing. I play with words. When I don’t, you know it just came out of my head in a runonsentence.