Post Rainy Sunday Brunch

Look at me--first I was not posting, now I have two posts in one day!

I had brunch at the Mercer Kitchen, a lovely lamb sandwich and a molten Valrhona chocolate cake that was so delicious that I almost was ashamed to eat it in public. I covered my face with my hand, and could not stop moving my feet out of my flip flops with each forkful.

But I digress--

I was sitting in the dry Mercer Kitchen (wet like crazy outside in New York City even though it was not supposed to be that bad with the threat of thunder storms) next to a man who travels between Miami and New York, and is such a regular there that he kept beckoning the hostess over to talk. Now the interesting part is I saw out of the corner of my eye that he had raised his glass of Fiji water to a woman who was sitting in the adjoining hotel lobby. My mind went crazy, as much of a Francophile as I am I ignored the French woman on my other side who was saying that she had been in New York so long that when she went to France they told her she could not speak French anymore--even as I am planning on going to Paris and am working on my French...I wondered if the man on my other side had had a long standing flirtation with the woman in the lobby? When he raised his glass, she looked at him bewildered. I was not sure if she was nervous or what. I kept an eye on their progress--he seemed to have stopped worrying about her and was talking to the hostess who he asked could he bring dessert and coffee into the lobby? The hostess said that he could only bring coffee. So with a grimace he took coffee solo into the lobby and sat across from the woman there with his cell phone. I actually scooted over in my seat to see what happened. But it was not until I was leaving that I saw the woman sitting lotus posed on the couch laughing with him.

That was a classic scene for an hopeless romantic, wasn't it? Kicked my inner Anais Nin into effect too because Anais was a brilliant diarist and people watcher. I think I have done a pretty good job in this post--oui?

Post Venus in Furs

I have stopped feeling so angry and I am happy to post. I am online working on my novel in progress. Met another writer yesterday who wrote a novel after her mother died and it occurred to me that I have created a thing of love and originality that happened after my mother died.

I can still do it, I will continue to do it. I have been writing like mad. But honestly, my inner Anais Nin has been inhibited. I am not sure what is bringing that on, but I am working to push past it. I can get down and dirty like all of the rest!

I am about to have brunch in the city--so many places around me I have spent part of the morning writing--a pretty sexy scene not physically explicit--maybe verbally explicit?

Definitely!

Maybe settling down with a good meal will make my mind wander...

Have you ever read Venus in Furs? I was reading the first few pages in a used bookstore cafe and was it only me who was laughing my head off? Although it was nice to see Sacher-Masoch instead of de Sade. I wish I had had the nice Klimt cover though!

Rage

Not any happier today...

Gratitude Tuesday

Temper, Temper

My temper reared its lovely head in a piece I wrote and shared with some people. I knew when I wrote this poem I was angry. I mean the words I used made it pretty simple "selfish," "bastard," "you(accusingly)."

But the response that the people who read it had to it made me realize that there was even deeper anger there than I had imagined. I was really mad at this person. The anger had been submerged in my mother's death, but it was deep and came out on the page so that the comments that I got made me reevaluate what I had written.

It was very angry and I am grateful. I will take anger--rage as a muse any day. I wrote my piece with more than a bit of a temper and I allowed for my own therapy and recovery. I began several pieces in poem and prose that are helping me to get even more of this out.

I am not watching my temper...

Gratitude Tuesday

Sustenance

I am writing my first Gratitude Tuesday in a long time. I am grateful today for physical and mental sustenance. Particularly mental. When my mother died, I knew I was going to continue to write, but I was not sure where I would find the inspiration from.

I have been startled to discover I still experience joy, happiness, passion--intense good emotions. I am able to take their sap and use them.

I am also able to utilize my sadness. Writers at the end of the day are leeches, we suck the sap out of every experience, every movement--everything. I have never been ashamed of the things that have inspired me or the things that I have utilized for the sake of art.

It is art at the end of the day, isn't it? Whatever medium. A blog, a novel in progress, the new feelings you have for another person...all of it is art right?

I am grateful...

Sharing 101

My mother always told me to be careful when you get comfortable talking. It is like its own sort of intoxication. One second you are talking about simple things, the next you are telling someone what color underwear you have on.

Well I did not reveal that, but I did let someone read a peek at a new project of mine that I realized was a bit racy. Nothing terrible, nothing that Anais Nin would not have be proud of! This guy that was sharing with his work, so I shared with him. I never share my work in progress. But I did. And it was liberating, it was okay to share with him and it was okay for him to share with me.

Then I let another friend read it. Now I am not so anxious anymore, I want to show someone else.

I think I was afraid of not being perfect, I have to learn to throw that inhibition out. I got input which was even better. I really probed both people.

I hope they are still my friends!

Baby Steps

I have forgotten how to blog, and yet I am going to try again. I might have even stopped, but I came back and saw that CeeCi said "Please don't."

Thank you.

The world remains the same, even though my mother died. At first, I was not even sure how people could be happy--hadn't they gotten the memo?

My mom was the sort of woman who could get out of any storm.

She did not get out of this. It is like losing a mom and a superhero. Yet even in her demise, she was the most potent and amazing woman I have ever known.

I miss her.

She was the one who told me about sex at a young age and started the obsession with it. She knew that I liked to write about it and certainly talk about it.

She was fine with that.

My mom was my best friend and my inspiration and it is because of her that I am going on.

Without her.

So I am back to the land of blogging.

Baby steps, baby steps...