Lord Howe Island Sketch

I really hope you can see this sketch, maybe by clicking on it to see it better? I’m really liking the sketch, was a bit challenged to get it on the somewhat narrow canvas. The bay of the island is pretty and turquoise with a bit of rust, and the island is surrounded by my fave, Prussian Blue sea, this time the Tasman.

I began editing Rebekah’s Closet lightly, some might say not at all (!), today, but they don’t know me. I tore my notes out from the notebook to make them more accessible and more notelike and less enclosed, reread them all to get them back and floating in my head, and began deciding where to begin writing, with the strange man at the beginning, developing his character with Rebekah as a young girl further in her psyche, so that is clearer from the start. (Note to Johnny Depp, in case he has begun to study for the role, already, one can only hope, ha!)  I also am determining how to structure the Mobius strip in the structure of the whole of the novel, how literally, how not, in Rebekah’s mind, the use of mirrors, alter triggers, things I deal with every day, should she deal with them, etc.? I’m trying to determine the tension of a secondary plot, well, there is already a secondary plot that I could develop more deeply, which prolly makes the most sense, or I could pull one out of a hat. Hmmm. Hat trick.

So, as nothing is WRITTEN and unchanged, one could say nothing is edited. But that is not knowing ME. The wheels they are turning, see above. They have only BEGUN to turn. I am very excited about beginning to write in narrative fiction again for real. I feel it in my blood, somewhat in my bones, but that comes in the writing itself.

Counseling was very productive today. I took a chart of left and right brain characteristics, which prior to session made me dizzy to begin to read. It turns out that most of my date/time data memories are stored on the left, such as the trigger “1971” and that will bring up ALL SORTS of alters on the right in visuals and stunning details of sensual memories. Amazing. We drew little diagrams of the brain and discussed how my brain stores memories and alters are triggered, how things were waiting like caps and landslides and keys to locked doors and rooms … and how apparently I’m still creating alters out of my experiences into new memories/alters because that is what I am wired to do now. That’s what I know how to do and too late to change me now. Wow.

So while I was painting lately The Olde Pink Room in Savannah came up and our honeymoon in Rehobeth, Delaware, like alters as good memories, but like alters, so that’s why I asked my counselor today — that’s apparently what is happening. Ordinarily people have memories that are either triggered subconsciously or are brought up consciously. But they are not alters, like mine. Learn something new every day, eh?

In Chopra today I read about love and in its descriptors, none of them mentioned passion. Hmmm. That’s odd, I thought. I mean I know passion ebbs and flows in committed relationships and I’m okay with that. No worries. But that spark needs to be there. Anyway. He also mentions unhealthy, obsessive love that is based on neediness, on needing not to be alone, fears of isolation, not being loved, on being alone. I’ve also had obsessive fascinations with people who I’ve found to be overwhelmingly gifted! He doesn’t mention that. So next session is all about love. I’ll let you know what I find out.

Then he talks about how he and his uncle in India growing up used to follow Saints around and how their energy was like filling up on positive battery power, and would drain away after a while. I think we’ve all had positive experiences and then we’ve faded into negativity again. Positivity is hard to maintain and sometimes I’ve been accused of being a Pollyanna I try so hard to be the optimist. At times I can be so depressed, it’s hard later to then be accused of being so positive. How ironic, and funny. Hee. I will continue to focus on positivity, nonetheless because I think it is the better energy, but sometimes I wish I could write in the darkest, blackest carbon of all. If so, what would I write? Maybe it will be in Rebekah’s Closet. Maybe I’ve already written it? thought it? Maybe it’s my name on certain days, my energy signature when I’m enraged? Then there is the whitest hottest rage of all, so who knows which is the better color for rage, or red?

All I know is there were a few, three consecutive years or so, when I was enraged solid and couldn’t sleep. I much prefer positivity, so I’m sticking with that. I still have plenty of rage inside me, it comes and goes, but I deliberately return to the positive. Blessed Be.

About amyjacksoncc

I am a professional artist, writer and musician creating from my home studio. To view my artwork, visit http://www.amyjackson.cc
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