Fire and Inglenooks

Into the Hearth Madeline Byrne, Australia @madelinecbyrne twitter

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Packing for an adventure with an adventure. Knickerbocker Classics edition of Homer's Odyssey.

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Excited to dig into this ARC of Kate Morton’s The Lake House (due to be released in Australia late October).

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Writing is hard, especially when your main enemy and repellent is the mind, the same which sparks with inspiration and desire to write at all. Writing a novel is a process where one’s mind is completely at odds – one of few occasions where to achieve something, the mind mustn’t work as a machine, in cognitive pattern, but like a pair of debaters, or at times, a pair of fighting bears, where the ideas clash and claw till a single one prevails.

fire-and-inglenooks - Madeline Byrne

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Before you can kill the monster you have to say its name.

Terry Pratchett (in ‘A Slip Of The Keyboard - Collected Non-Fiction’)

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Inevitability

I might as well confess, the story from which my “first novel” is inspired, is Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan of the Apes. Everyone knows the story, and Burroughs novel itself, despite tending to be extremely old fashioned in it’s rationale (sexist, racist, and very crude towards gorillas), it is still turning out to be a beautiful read.

My story, with these characters in mind, is a very different version. I’ve actually fallen so deeply into my characters that I’ve forgotten that I thought to base them off others (ie. Jane Porter and John Clayton (Jr). These are the only two inspired, the rest of my characters are invented).

I know from the outset it seems like a cop-out, to use another author’s inspiration. I must insist that my story is unique in it’s own right. As Markus Heitz wrote  The Dwarves in light of Tolkien, and Marissa Meyer wrote Cinder in light of the original Grimm Cinderella (plus the bajillion other Cinderella stories.) 

I have used Tarzan of the Apes for inspiration, like any good fairy-tale or classic. The thing is, I’ve been procrastinating a lot lately. I figured I’d have it done by now. My current deadline is October, however I’m thinking again to pull it closer.

INEVITABLY; there haven’t been many Tarzan versions of note since Disney’s 1999 feature (which is amazing, and which, given the nature of such a character as Tarzan, only animation could do well in such light) - HOWEVER, just as I begin to think my idea as a chance of rehashing a beloved theme, there comes a feature film, coming July 2016, starring some famous names, called, Tarzan. Are you kidding?! I don’t want my moody, brunette Jane to be mistaken for the lovely, feisty, blonde, Margot Robbie, who is cast to portray Miss Porter in the coming film. I was hoping, so desperately, not to have a comparison title when I try my best to market my own to agents and publishers.

SO, I have a new plan. If the book ends up being worthy of sendout to agents, and if I ever finish it, it needs to be sent out by me LONG before 2016. Which is pretty much NOW.

I’m under the pump. I should think of it as good motivation, but it seems more like a bad omen to me...

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The Worst and most Common Advice

“Live life without regrets” is the most rubbishy advice that ever amassed to plague proportions. It has become a soul-searcher’s lullaby, as they fruitlessly devise plans, most of which had been successfully achieved by others, in order to discover their own purpose. It is the anthem of those who ever-remind themselves of the defining points of their own life, and feel despondent. 

Regrets – nobody wants them. Just like nobody wants to die alone, or be heartbroken, or see their pets or friends or parents die. But it happens, because life happens. Life happens at an unstoppable rate. There is no pausing to analyse, though people think that by escaping or even numbing themselves to the daily grind, that they will find moments to stop and look at their life closely. But, however hopeful, the world doesn’t stop. Life is an enormous, rotating chair-lift, said simply.

Without any doubt in my mind, I believe everybody tries to make – not necessarily the “right” decision – but the best decision that might direct their life in the best possible, personal direction. We are constantly battling our choices. Some people, with ‘no regrets’ in mind, will try to see that their short-term decisions pay off as long-term ones. Some people don’t think too far ahead, and try to make the best possible decision for that day, because at this point, the future literally doesn’t exist.

You cannot possibly know if fighting for a relationship, or abandoning one, will bring you regret. Possibly both decisions will, and it is an outcome cemented by fate to always worry you. Same goes with having children, staying in a job, announcing your opinion or retracting it. Confrontation. Apologies. Public transport or paying for fuel. It is what we do not know – the choices we did not make – that morph into regrets. But oftentimes there is only one of two options when committing a decision. At that rate, you will regret the one you didn’t make, either way. You can only be thoughtful, and pick the best thing at the time.

Perhaps avoiding regrets is not the challenge – but learning to live with them.

“Live without regrets! Get a divorce.” “Live without regrets! Don’t borrow the money to buy your own home.” “Live without regrets! Call your ex at four in the morning.” “Live without regrets! Quit your job and travel.”

You don’t know what you will come to regret; how could you possibly choose to “live without regrets”?  The act of surviving life, which all we know for certain, is what we were designed to do, means weighing up options and taking turns or staying put. If you feel regret looming, and you think, “If only I had changed my mind – if only I had listened – if only I hadn’t” – then sitting upon the topic will only drive you to debilitating depression. You’ll start telling people “live without regrets”, but what does that even mean?

Living means regretting. Living means knowing that you made the best possible decision and that, frustratingly enough, was all you could do. If you feel in yourself that you have room to go back, and that you should, it is up to you to make the call.

Living cannot be done without regrets. We should be telling each other to be strong. We should be giving time to one another, providing a joyous purpose to live on, with our regrets clinging to our backs.

For we all carry them; and we all keep on.

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I am not giving up, I am changing course. I may even loosen my grasp on the wheel and let the winds carry me for awhile.

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Like love, hurt begets itself.

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Hurt

To define hurt is like defining the person who caused you to feel it. There’s no singular cure for a type of fall out; certain similarities between people, of course. But we are all individuals; by the colour of our hair to the sense of humour that rolls off our tongues.

Hurt is like the natural person we carry inside; the effortless personality we either embrace or suppress, or dabble between. It’s raw and flares like an injury; but it goes beyond us, too. It hurts others; it reprimands where it believes it came from. It bites back the wrong person, quite often. It leaves remnants of regret. Hurt begets hurt, like love.

How long does it take, before we stop caring? What are the steps to stop hurt plaguing us, long after it first leaves its icy mark?

Do we need to make the choice to move on, or does time force us? Is it yet another thing, like all facets of life, that bleeds across all answers, all questions? Like fingerprints, DNA, the sound of a person’s laugh and the shape of their fingernails – is it true, that the definitive answer is as inscrutably variable?

 When I lost my friend, I wandered furiously through a fog. I marched up to the wrong people to express myself, I sought time on my own to stew. I forced the question onto others, the one that rattled my mind; why? Why? Why? How dare they?

Time swept the fog away; but yet it returns every so often. It doesn’t misdirect me as often, though it tries. My hurt is like the fog. I tempt it forward so that I might thrash in its abyss, an excuse to express myself poorly and with anger and ugliness.

I’m starting to discover something, however. I think I’ve known it for quite a while, however it isn’t the most desirable of options for those of us young and impatient: time.  My fog - this hate - is turning into the dawn of a morning. In succession, the fog dies as the sun rises. Joy triumphs. The heat of the day dries up the dew till you begin to forget what the chill felt like on the soles of your feet. Suddenly you can see again - further and further again, as the fog dissipates, and is replaced with only light.

Unfortunately there is no switch on the wall for dawn. We cannot summon it, as we cannot summon peace. We must simply wait.

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She couldn’t gather the beautiful moments that might have passed her way - she ought to seek them out and enjoy them in their natural moment instead - for they were all around her, and had been for some time.

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I wonder if I’ll have my day where I don’t spend it planning, but rather intent on creating something for the moment - something that, in the end, will lead me on to tomorrow better than a checklist ever would.

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And what a web one makes, when one tries to draw lines between love and family, progress and faith, right, wrong, and the plethora of shades in-between? I have created a web, sister, and like a spider who has fruitlessly set up in the hours before a storm, I now suspect that it shall all come crashing down, with not a minute spare where I might save myself.

A photo-montage served to inspire me as I write, with slow progress, my first novel. - fire-and-inglenooks

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Doubt in an outcome does nothing to change the odds.

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It is the voice of the privileged that says happiness is a choice and not by chance. Some must work much harder than others before they can choose happiness. If you are in a state of mind or place or physicality where you feel you can choose happiness, take it with both hands, and do not let it go.

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There is a fine line between what we hate and what we want.

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Goal Undecided

I need a goal for this year. My want to complete a Grad Cert (a very intense, rather frightening Graduate Certificate) has been pushed into 2016. So now I am free for 2015. I am free for some purposeful goal. Up until now I have been studying or in school. There were dates and assignments to complete, very clear signposts and ambitions. Last year I graduated with a BFA, and entered this year full of direct goals that were very quickly, and in remarkable relief, dashed.

I am in a casual job that I like – while still attached to a casual job that I like less, one that is presently my safety-net for comfort purposes.

I intend to adventure New Zealand come September/October. Till then, I have no real plan. It feels nice to be free to choose something, but with too much thought, rather overwhelming.

I’m starting to believe that I may begin a more passion-based relationship with art, again. My relationship with illustration was picked apart by technology and compulsory assignments. Drawing by the requests of others in themes I did not wish to convey for a competitive, rather unwholesome career, caused my drawing attitude to become embittered.

Now, there are no walls closing in, no never-ending hallways or any other figurative description for mind-numbing, unending stress. I can draw what I like, if I feel like it. This in itself means I’ll likely draw more, and, more importantly, improve.

I may even become closer to animating again! When I knew I needed a break from animation I had no idea how long it would be. I am gaining on two months now, or more. I’m still not there yet, but the brainstorming has begun. (Quite often, unless the idea is executed well, brainstorming is the best part).

I am also struggling to know what fire-and-inglenooks will become. I’d hate for it to be another journal. (I say, as I post this journal-esque post). I’ll come up with something. I suppose right now it’s a calm sort of shambles, which is a true reflection of my life right now. Shambles in the best possible sense, calm in the most content way possible.