Notes, Notings, and Common Refrains

My Biases:

Here are some aspects of my identity that have the most weight when it comes to which directions my thoughts tend to swerve in:

I was born with a physical disability that affects how I move through the world.

The relative importance of this fact varies from day to day and hour to hour, but it's the thing that I've been living with the longest, and it's the thing new people notice first.

Because I can't take moving through the world for granted, I am almost always looking at the spaces between things, both literally, and metaphorically; I believe this is where my love of the liminal spaces of fairy tales, and dreams comes from.

I am White. I am Cisgender. I am American. My first language is English. I was raised as a Christian. If I get careless with my privilege in any of these areas, please remind me.

I've reached the age where nearly everyone on the Internet strikes me as being young, tender babes. And I want to protect them all most of them.

I am asexual and aromantic, and there are several other "micro-labels" to describe my various orientations; I consider myself Queer.

I am a confirmed Atheist. I got there after being Neo-Pagan for many years. The reasons I left Christianity are different than the reasons I left Neo-Paganism.

In July 2021, with the help of several people from the Disability Community on Tumblr (some of whom wished to remain anonymous), I redesigned a Disability Pride Flag, and entered it into the Public Domain:

I also spend a lot of time on Tumblr. My blog is here: capricorn-0mnikorn

What you'll find here:

This journal is random, overall. I generally post whatever's on my mind, especially contemplative and/or silly. Favorite topics include literature, discoveries in science and nature, writing that I'm working on (or should be working on), drawings I've doodled, etc.

Politics is relatively rare, but it does come up, especially in the context of history. Like my body, my politics leans heavily to the Left...

What counts as "Good Manners" around here:

1. Don't be mean. There's no need to be mean. Remember, wherever you go, there you are.
   
2. Praise what you enjoy before criticizing what you don't.
   
3. When you do give criticism, let it be reasoned ("It sucks!" doesn't cut it).
   
4. Don't belittle, or mock, people for the things they enjoy.
   
5. If you must post provocative things, aim for provoking laughter, and provoking thought.
   
6. Remember that anger can splash onto innocent bystanders, and people "reading over your shoulder." If you must have an argument with someone in particular--rather than an argument for or against an idea--take it to private message (click [inbox] in the header), please.
   
7. When in doubt, puns.

Thirty years ago, my favorite genre to write (and the novel I did write, and for one brief moment actually tried to shop around for a publisher) was “Children’s Fantasy” (middle grade age group -- older than picture books, younger than Young Adult), especially stories where the child protagonist belongs to this “real world,” and crosses over to a realm of magic.

I was told, repeatedly, that my chosen genre was dead, and the only books publishers wanted for that age group were:

1. realistic fiction,
   
2. historical fiction,
   
3. nonfiction, and
   
4. religious fiction (translation: Evangelical Christian -- a hard nope)
   

This was, bee-tee-dubs, between twelve and seven years before a certain infamous book and film series created a tidal wave in the literary world.

And yes, now that the literary landscape and cultural expectations have shifted in favor of my favorite beloved genre, I have thought about trying again. But, as the title of this post suggests, whenever I think about where to start fresh in either recreating that first novel, or something completely new, I realize I have no real connection to the “real world” my fictional protagonist of this generation is living in: a world where every waking moment is scheduled by adults, where they have phones in their pockets or backpacks at all times, where the only unsupervised connections with friends is through the Internet, expressed through text and emojis.

Emojis didn’t even exist when I wrote that first novel!

And yeah, I know that doesn’t have to matter -- I mean, the “real world” that brackets the fantasy in that infamous series isn’t a reflection of the actual real world, either. But just thinking about how to approach the question hits me upside the head with how much history I’ve actually lived though. And that is what is so sobering.

So that's why, as I find my brain lubricating rusty novel-writing gears, I find myself thinking in terms of "literary fairy tales," where the whole story takes place in an Other-world, and the characters are not expected to "share experiences" with the reader.

(And yes, in case you were wondering, I am bitter that the author who changed the literary culture turned out to be such a turd of a human being)

"CapriUni" was (is) a portmanteau of "Capricorn" and "Unicorn" that I chose for my online "face" throughout the Internet over 20 years ago (And it had been my LiveJournal user name for 17 years)

I was inspired to pick that name because of an essay I'd read describing the symbol of Capricorn/fish-tailed goat as the mid-point in the evolution of the soul, with the Unicorn as the ultimate superior form (because the duality of the two horns become united in one perfection).

Only, over the past couple of decades, my beliefs have changed, and I no longer see unified harmony as superior to polyphony and complexity. And besides, the very idea that the fish form represents something base, and inferior, that must be evolved out of, now has too much of an uncomfortable taint of Lovecraft's racism.

So I've now changed it to "Capri0mni" (note well: spelled with a zero, because Dreamwidth code doesn't have room for capital letters), which is a portmanteau of Capricorn and Omnicorn (All the horns), instead.

I am still fond of the Capricorn goat, and the myth of how he came to be a constellation. And I still love unicorns. I just no longer see them as connected on a scale of spiritual evolution.

(Also note: I've decided not to release "CapriUni" for anyone else to use, because I'm not changing it anywhere else I'm using it, and it had been my identity for so long, the idea of anyone else taking it kind of creeps me out. So if you search for CapriUni, it will all lead back to me, just like it always has)

[Image description: NaNoWriMo 2017 Winner's badge: square, bright yellow with main text in white, and a central motif of a "Superhero shield" in black, with a large white "W" in the center. Description ends]

It turns out the real novel is the backstory you figure out along the way (in week three).

My initial plot bunny for this story was that a boy stumbles upon a Baba Yaga style house (but it's crow-legged, instead of chicken-legged), only... it's alone. It's lost its person. And it follows the boy home, and recruits the boy's help to try and rescue said person.

And it was ... going okay-ish. Until house and boy were underway, and I had to figure out exactly Who house's person was, and how person was connected to the giantess troll, who was the next person the house goes to for help, and the boy has to deal with...

So I said to myself: okay, I'll just write a quick backstory, and tack it onto the front of this document (so the backstory's word count is part of my NaNoWriMo's total), and go on from there... I just write it in "fairy Tale" style -- bare bones, almost, so it won't take too long.

18,383 words later (!), it turns out this is the complete story, with a beginning, middle, another middle, a third middle, and an end that has enough to it to stand on its own.

I crossed the 50K word mark on Monday (including all the words and false starts in my original story idea), but I wanted to keep going so that I could earn the "update your story for 30 days in a row" badge, which I'd never done. I wanted to beat my previous word count record, which happens to have been on a story I was trying too tell over, so not fully in the NaNo spirit. And I also wanted to get to my version of the "happy ever after ending."

(Which I did at about 3 this afternoon)

Back to public reality tomorrow... *blah*

So, I took part in my first NaNoWriMo in 2005, and crossed the 50K word line by a hair’s breadth just prior to the stroke of midnight, but in terms of storyline, barely squeaked past the first chapter -- I just sorta picked the resolution of a mid-plot conflict and chose that to be the point where I stuck "the end." And ever since then, my goal has been to:

Get the number of words written and actually get the entire plot written.

And that accomplishment still alludes me.

This year was actually a third attempt at the same story. And I still didn’t actually get to writing the final scene... Though I did get about 7/8th of the story written? or maybe 3/4ths?

And even that word count win is kinda-sorta, because maybe half to three quarters of what’s on the page is either: the same scene written multiple times (with different wording/p.o.v./voice), rambling as an author about what I want the scene to accomplish, rather than writing the actual scene, or multiple versions of author ramblings.

On the other other hand: a) after ten years of having this story in my head, I am still not sick of it, and want it to be a thing (and I vow that I will revise), and b) at least, even if I didn’t write the final scenes, I at made a list of them, so I have them on record.

And at least I made it past chapter two (yay?)

---

I’ve learned two things about myself, in the process, the first is neuro-cognitive, and the second is ... what’s the word?... philosophical? Or political?

First: This year, for the first time, I mostly wrote using the offline version of “Write or Die,” which keeps track of your typing speed, odometer style, and also requires you to set a timer for writing. Those two features together revealed that when I’m just writing words in the abstract (such as those bits I mentioned above, where I’m describing what I want a scene to accomplish) I can easily write 25 words per minute. But when I’m writing an actual scene, and visualizing it through my P.O.V character’s eyes, I struggle to reach half that speed. And, further, when I’m writing in a rambling way, I can keep going for 40 minutes without getting tired, but writing in-character wears me out at around 20 minutes -- and that’s even when I have the scene detailed clearly in my head, and I’ve been “rehearsing” it for days.

Who needs an fMRI machine to tell you that visualization and language production take place in different regions of the brain, and compete for resources?

:::Brain go FLOP!:::

Second: while "gentle fiction" may be my favorite thing to read, it turns out that writing it? Not so much. I mean, I love the gentle resolution, but in process of the getting there, my mind is drawn to the ugly guts of cruelty like a moth to the flame. Like opening up an alarm clock, scattering the gears and springs across the table, and then, sitting down and examining each gear in turn, admiring how the light glints off each cog... And that kinda makes me uncomfortable?


I tell myself it's 'cause I feel the need to plant flags all over evil, in order to make sure that no one can ignore it, ...but I dunno...

Can you kink shame yourself? Can you fiction kink shame yourself?

---

Final word count: 51,864 (by NaNoWriMo's counter). Probable word count after I revise it will probably be half that, but it could be double -- depends on whether "Backstory" stays in the back, or moves to center stage.

A few years ago, I came up with the monster design in the icon above this post for a specific boy, and put it on a tee-shirt for him (in the hopes that it would fend off doting adults who wanted to pet him, and call him a "Little Angel!").

Well, recently, I got a hankering for my own monster, that fits my personality. And this is what I came up with:


(Picture description: A loose pencil sketch of a one-legged bird monster in a motor chair, facing the viewer, with a flower growing out of her head)

It's still rough. I think, in my finished version, I'll give her the same pose as the monster above -- that is: with the chair in profile, and the creature's face turned toward the viewer. This would make the wheelchair more instantly recognizable (thanks to the international access symbol), and, to be honest, a heck less complicated, perspective-wise.

At first, because I have such a strong affinity with spiders, I thought to give her spider-like legs. But as I was drawing them, I got a visceral feeling that that was not me -- my hands are very much human!

...I don't think I'd have realized that if I hadn't tried to do something radically different...

Still working on that poetry collection* I drafted during July's Camp NaNoWriMo... And a good quarter of them, so far, are etymological-- often snagged directly from dictionary pages, rearranged for the purposes of scansion.

Right now, I'm writing a longish poem on the word "Cripple," and trying to explain why I love the word, even though it is most often used in hateful contexts. And this simile / analogy popped into my head: Etymology is to cultural beliefs what fossils are to biology. People choose words to convey their thoughts, and the meanings of those words change gradually over time as people's attitudes change. So by tracing the meaning of a word, through its different language roots, you can find evidence of what people were experiencing a thousand years ago, even if they weren't writing them down explicitly, in a "Dear Diary" format. Just like the fossils of tiktaalik tell us about how we are related to ancient, bony, fishes, words themselves can provide evidence of the people whose lives and experiences are otherwise not recorded at all


*or "short essays that just happen to be in iambic pentameter"?

1. I remembered, in replying to raze, yesterday, that I eventually learned react before the scary music cue, and thought that it might be good to make that clear.

2. Much of the language in this poem is self-reflective, adult, and jargony. So I tried to make the two lines where I'm "hiding," at least, sound more like the voice of the two-year old me (cue Eleven's regeneration speech).

3. Question -- Considering the above: Back then, my actual name for the show was "Scare Trek." Should I call it that, in the poem?

A SPASTIC CHILD WATCHES THE T.V.

I learned to tell a story at age two
(At least, the craft of pacing and suspense).
Propped up between my parents on the couch,
With season one of “Star Trek” on the screen,
I could not hide, but quickly learned:
Anticipate the music's minor shift,
Then plug my ears and close my eyes and hum
Until the things that scared me went away.
I never feared the aliens as much
As all the angry shouts and lasers' whine
That always happened – every episode –
As soon as any “monster” came on-screen.

Could I have understood, as young as that:
My difference, too, was something that they feared?

Context: Yesterday, in reporting on the story of Jenny Hatch, Dave Hingsburger pointed out that people with disabilities are the only ones who have scientists with clipboards collecting data on them to prove, scientifically, that freedom is better than captivity.

...There was a lot of push-back against that. Generally along the lines of: "But lots of people still have to fight for freedom, and human rights!"

In today's post, he defended his statement, and the point that talking about what is unique about the discrimination different minorities face is valid, and does not mean that we're trying to outdo each other.

This is the reply I was prompted to make, and I thought folks here would be interested in reading it:

[Begin quote]

From my experience (as someone with a congenital disabling condition), I've come to the conclusion that the discrimination disabled folk face is psychologically and socially difficult in two unique ways:

1) More often then not, we're minorities within our own families, so we often experience oppression from those who should be protecting us from it (the stories of Eve and Jenny both illustrate this).

2) And, unlike gay and transgender people, who are also often isolated within their families (and therefore, are subject to cruelty and injustice, as well), very few people with disabilities are able to "pass" as either able-bodied or neurotypical for the sake of their own safety.

Even if a disabled kid is lucky, like I was, and wins the "supportive parents" lottery, being alone in your family means sometimes going without the emotional and practical support you need. My mother was fantastic with helping me deal with sexism, because she'd had experience with that herself, and had figured out ways to get through it. But if I came home from school complaining about how the newly-waxed hallways made it hard to get to class on my crutches (for example), she was at a loss.

And, while this wasn't always the case (and was, itself, the result of hard-won battles for social justice), it's now recognized that children in racial, ethnic, and religious minorities need some contact with adult role models from their own minority to help them grow and learn. I've yet to see that same recognition for children with disabilities.

[end quote]

So -- I've got this long term, long-short-medium fiction project going, and now that I'm recovered (mostly) from NaNoWriMo, my mind has turned toward it once again. What that means, right now, is putting thought into a main character's house.

And that's got me thinking about the kind of house I really want to live in.

What I really, really want to live in is a space that's round; circles are just friendlier than squares. And with about third (maybe even half-- not really good at estimating space by eyeball) less interior space. Seriously.

The big Master Bedroom-with-full-bath/roll-in shower is the right size, because need all that wide open, empty space to have room to maneuver my wheelchair (which is a feature that makes the current version of Tiny House Movement unworkable for most with mobility impairments). And I use the adjacent laundry room nook. But:

When I bought this house (Before I'd ever lived in a house of my own) I didn't know that actually cooking three squares a day would be beyond my spoon count, and that I'd end up surviving on prepared food zapped in the microwave for 90% of my meals. So basically, all the space I really need for a kitchen is space for a microwave and a freezer/refrigerator and a table to eat at-- I've never used the oven, but maybe three times in the sixteen-plus years I've lived here (and those times, I had help, and it didn't really work). And I hardly ever use the stove anymore.

The "Great Room" (aka "living room" for Northerners) is nothing but a big empty space that I have to cross in order to get from by bed to my computer room -- it's also an empty space with walls in between that separates the part of the house that gets nicely warmed by the sun from the part of the house where I actually spend my time. The guest room has turned into a closet for all the stuff from the House on the Mountain, since Father died... it's only used by the cats, now, who sleep on the bed, that's somewhere under all the books.

And you know what? All that extra, unused space, is depressing -- it reminds me every day that the cultural norm is "Family of Four with a Dog" while I live "All Alone." If I had a genie, who could zap this from the house I have to the house I'd be most comfortable in (so I wouldn't have to figure out where to live in the meantime), it would shrink down and turn into a little round (one storey) tower, and I could be like the woman who lived in a vinegar bottle (image of a children's book cover, showing a woman sitting in a vinegar-bottle-shaped house).

The problem is: Zoning. There are rules that say every house in a neighborhood has to be a certain, minimum, size (so as to give the appearance of affluence, and discourage those icky Poor People from moving in). And my house is already the smallest in the cul-de-sac.

And then, I had an idea which amused me: Keep the foundation footprint as it is, and turn that into a terrace/patio, with architectural columns all around the outside to define the space, and a garden of potted plants with benches and tables... So the space my house would take up would look just as big as all the others, at first glance, and it wouldn't be until you looked closer that you'd notice that the actual living space was about half the size... Heck-- I could even make the columns two storeys tall, and top them with a trellis with vines, to make it match the roof lines of the houses around it...

Y/Y?

(sometimes, it's fun to make wishes, just for the sake of it)