Making River Song’s Journal

The new iteration of Doctor Who is by turns silly, clunky, brilliant, heart-breaking, and delightful. I watch every episode. I like the essential hopefulness and joyfulness of it. There are piece of the stories which stay with me even after I walk away from the screen, like the story between the Doctor and River Song. They both travel in time and have met each other many times, but always in a random order. This makes reminiscing difficult because they don’t want to accidentally give away the future of the other person. To solve the problem the Doctor gives River Song a journal. It looks like this:

I love the idea of this journal. It’s tattered condition implies hundreds of adventures that River and the Doctor have together. Through it they are able to find where they are in relation to each other and then proceed to have yet another adventure. Possibly my interest in the journal is due to the fact that I love journals. I always have. I wondered if it were possible for me to buy a journal with a cover made to look like River Song’s. I googled and discovered that the BBC has released a printable PDF which one can use to cover a journal, but that there is no officially sanctioned journal for purchase. There are several etsy shops which sell handmade ones, but the prices were daunting when I’m trying to cut back on frivolous spending. I sighed and gave up. Or so I thought.

The next day I kept bumping into supplies. My on my craft desk was some dark blue tissue paper and Modge Podge (a decoupage glue) which I’d been using to re-decorate some little metal boxes. Sorting through a pile under my desk I found an unused journal which I bought some time in the past six months. I knew I had card stock, scissors, and an exacto knife. I had everything I needed. So without exactly deciding to, I began making a River Song journal.

I began with this black journal. Having it be black was important so that the dark could show through the tissue paper and make the shadows which can be seen in the recessed portions of the journal cover. I colored over the red line with a sharpie marker.

Next I printed out a copy of the PDF and sized it so that it would fit the cover of the book I had. Then I cut out the pieces as a pattern. I arranged the patterns on the book to make sure the proportions were correct before I proceeded.

I traced the pattern onto white card stock. Once I had it all traced, I glued a second piece of card stock to the back to give it the thickness I wanted.

I used a knife and scissors to cut out the pattern pieces. I deliberately made everything not quite square to resemble the PDF better. Once the pieces were cut out, I arranged them on the book. Then I glued them down using Modge Podge.

I waited for that to dry thoroughly before proceeding. Fortunately this particular glue dries quickly. Next I cut a piece of the blue tissue paper so that it was larger than the book. I applied glue to the cover in sections and carefully pressed the tissue paper down so that it got into the recessed places as well as the top of the card stock. On the binding side, the tissue lined up with the edge of the cover cardboard. Glue does not bend well and I wanted my book to be able to open. I had to be gentle and careful so that I did not tear the tissue paper. I used two layers of tissue, letting the glue dry completely between layers.

I clipped the corners of the tissue paper and then propped the book open so that I could wrap the tissue around to the inside of the book. I glued it down, making sure to slather a layer of glue across the top of the tissue so that it was protected. I also put a layer of glue all across the top of the cover, both front and back.

All that was left was the spine. I cut some pieces of card stock to fit and repeated the process of laying down tissue paper. Again I was careful not to glue anything to the binding crease so that the book would open easily.

And here is the journal completed:

It is not perfect. Intentionally so in some places. I do wish I’d figured out how to give it a more leather-like texture. The Modge Podge is smooth and shiny. You can also see the strokes of the brush I used to lay down the glue. I’m pleased with the result even though it definitely has a home made look. Perhaps as I carry it around, and use it, the shine will wear off a bit. I’m far from the only one who has committed this particular act of geekery. A little googling will find similar journals in leather, paint, knitting, fridge magnets, key chains, and all sorts of other forms.

The question I began asking myself almost as soon as I began construction was what I planned to do with the thing once it was made. I already have a journal. Several. It seemed foolish to spend so much work to make another one. Then I realized that what I loved about the idea of River Song’s journal is that it was full of amazing things all out of order. I wanted a book like that. One where my usual self-imposed writing rules don’t apply. I wanted to see what deliberately changing the structures of my creativity would cause to fall out of my brain. Once I knew that, I also knew what my rules for filling the journal needed to be.

1. Don’t write it in order. When I have something to write, pick a page at random and begin.
2. Date every entry.
3. Write only things that matter to me. Nothing boring. That said, sometimes small and insignificant can also be fascinating.
4. Leave the first two pages blank. Write them last.
5. Draw as many pictures as I wish. They don’t have to be good.
6. I can update, change, or alter anything that I have already put in the book. I just need to note the date of the change.
7. Writing sideways or upside down is fine.
8. Find things to clip and tape into the pages.
9. Neatness is not required.
10. I can make stuff up, write stories, or pretend to be someone else.
11. I can invite others to contribute to the pages.
12. I am the maker of all these rules. I can break them if I wish.

And so my River Journal adventure begins. I wonder where I will travel.

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Analyzing Anxiety

I’ve been paying attention to the shapes of my thoughts lately. I’ve figured out that I am living with levels of stress and anxiety which are too high for my body to sustain on a long term basis. Combine that with recently watching a documentary showing scientific evidence of how stress can reduce both health and happiness, and I’ve felt highly motivated to figure out where all of the stress is coming from. It is not merely the result of being busy. It is possible to be busy all day long while also being relaxed and happy. I’ve done that before and it is where I am aiming to dwell again.

I noticed that many of my thoughts had the shape of perfectionism. I put great pressure on myself to stay on schedule, to get things right. Yet I don’t think I’m inherently perfectionist. I am quite willing to allow myself mistakes and errors. This morning I realized what it was. I am not allowed to let down people who are counting on me, or people whom I perceive as counting on me. The more important the person is to me, the less I am allowed to fail them. No one else is imposing these requirements on me. I do it to myself and sometimes to a ridiculous degree. I will berate myself for failing to complete something that the other person had no idea I was doing for them. If I do fail at something I generally pick up and move on fairly quickly, but it adds stress to the next round of “I must not fail.”

I’m not entirely sure how to disconnect this as a source of stress, because I want to retain being reliable and dependable as core elements of my self-definition. I’m in the process of re-defining the boundaries of my jobs so that I take less responsibility on myself. I know I tend to snatch responsibility when it would be better to let others handle it. Most of this gets expressed in my home life. This makes things murky in the areas where personal and business overlap, such as my relationship with my husband-and-business-partner. We’re working on it and finding better balances.

The best avenue of attack has been to sit myself down and ask exactly what I’m afraid of. I’ll pull out the anxieties and sort them then think step-by-step through all the possible consequences. Usually I discover that the worst case scenarios are well within my management capabilities. That works for anxiety which has basis in thought. Other times the anxiety starts as an agitation in my body to which my brain tries to attach explanations. Re-balancing my thyroid medication may resolve most of this. I’m also actively seeking out relaxation / recreational activities. I’m exercising, gardening, and spending time on projects that don’t have much purpose other than my desire to do them. Bit by bit I am teasing out the knots of stress and tension. So far so good.

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Querying Through the Fog

I’ve been sending out Queries on Stepping Stones for several months now. I haven’t sent all that many. Sorting through online information about literary agents to find one who might be interested is both time consuming and emotionally exhausting. Once I do find one, I then have to adjust and personalize my query letter for that agent. It is hard to convince myself that this expended effort will net me anything beyond rejection letters. A couple of the rejections were personalized and said nice things, which is about the best I expect really. I know that Stepping Stones is full of flaws. I also know that it is something of a niche book; a memoir about the ordinary rather than the extraordinary. Not only that, but it is written in a personal essay format rather than the novel format which is more common for memoirs. So, I know that the project will be hard to sell, will likely have a small print run, and be a marginal earner; hard to believe that a New York agent would get excited by that prospect. Only a persistent and pounding feeling that it was important made me write it at all. Now I send it out because that is my next job. I am responsible for sending out queries. If it is supposed to sell, it will. If it doesn’t sell within a year, I’ll re-evaluate. Perhaps it is only important to me. Either way, I found a weird sense of satisfaction in sending my first paper queries yesterday. All the rest had been via email. There was something more real about putting pages into an envelope and hand writing New York addresses on them.

I’ve been thinking about imposter syndrome lately. It is the persistent belief that one has not actually earned the recognition one has received. I think everyone experiences this to some level, the fear that everyone around us will figure out that we’re only faking and then they’ll de-mask us and ridicule. I’ve been feeling a lot of quiet and pernicious imposter syndrome lately, not so much with professional endeavors, but in friendships and relationships. “They’re just being nice because they’re nice people, not because they actually like you.” whispers the voice in my head. These voices are quiet and pervasive, like fog. I discover myself slowing down, altering my choices because of the fog. If I shine logic and rational thought onto it, the fog melts away. I just wish I could find my way back into sunlight instead of wandering around with a lantern. I think it is coming. Things are getting better as I find my rhythm in the new schedule, as we make adjustments to give me time for my creative things, and as I slowly get my thyroid medications balanced again.

Seeing the imposter syndrome inside my head naturally leads me to think back on my assessments of the quality and likely future of Stepping Stones. I was pretty narrow in my expectations during that first paragraph. Am I doing that as a disappointment management technique? Is it me being unable to accept that I have an accomplishment? Or is it an honest assessment of the book and the market? I really can’t tell and trying to figure it out only sends me in useless mental circles. Instead I need to shut out the noise and just do my job. I send out queries. I write something new. I apply faith and choose to believe that my friends and family love me. Then I keep going, headed for the light.

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Much More of this and I’ll Need to Find a Trash Can to Live In

Things which went wrong today:

Kiki was sick and stayed home from school.

FedEx came when no one was home.

A piece of Howard’s car came loose.

The dishwasher lost yet another screw.

Son’s book order was rejected because I put cash in the envelope instead of a check.

The color proofs for Blackness Between showed a color fix which needed to be made.

Construction on the road blocked the turn to my kids’ school.

Things which are now fixed:

Took Kiki to the doctor, we now have antibiotics for her bronchitis.

FedEx stopped by again because I called and asked them to.

Howard’s car is now in the shop.

My drill put the screws back in the dishwasher.

My daughter’s book order has the same books as my son’s. I’ve resubmitted with a check this time.

I sent the color fix to the printer and Blackness Between is back on track.

Defying the construction, I drove down the road and made a U-turn to retrieve my children.

Now if only I could ditch the unreasonable amount of crankiness that this small list of things-gone-wrong-but-now-fixed engendered. I guess some days are just grouchy.

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Weekly Course Corrections

I sat at one end of the chapel bench and Howard sat at the other with our children in between. We were singing the opening hymn, all of us with books open in our laps. The requirement that the kids sing along for the opening hymn was a new one for our family, but through it the kids are learning that music can bring a special spirit to us. The song concluded and the heads of three kids bent back over their drawings. Supposedly they were also listening while they drew. I’m sure Kiki listened. Gleek listened sometimes. Patch listened if the speaker was telling an interesting story. Link did not draw. He sat quietly, which did not guarantee that he was listening. Whether or not they were paying attention, we were all there together for the first time in weeks. I look down the row at them, I can see the contentment in their bodies. Church is a good place for all of us and we are glad to be there together.

I closed my eyes and asked the same silent question I ask every week. It is a prayer of sorts, almost wordless as I reach out. It comprises several things from “any messages for me?” to “What should I be focused on this week?” to “What next?” or even occasionally a petulant “what now?” I don’t remember how long it has been that I’ve been making this overt weekly request. I think it began last year when I was pounded with unexpected inspiration several weeks in a row. I finally figured it might be better to just ask instead of waiting to be shouted at. I ask, and answers always come. It is a little frightening this receiving of answers. Sometimes I want to wrap myself in a little cloak of sameness. I don’t always want answers which may ask me to change or do some other difficult thing. But lately I have been glad of the answers, they help me set a path for the week to follow. I can’t see much beyond a week right now. However if I can get the week aimed right on Sunday, I can follow through long enough to get me to the next Sunday when I can adjust, change, or continue.

So I sat with my eyes closed and asked “What new thing shall I undertake this week? What am I to do with my time and energy?” Sometimes the answers are loud and clear, almost like being spoken to. Other times it is like I have to sort them from my own thoughts and it takes most of the meeting. Today the answer was so quiet I almost missed it, rather like a hand waving gesture which indicates “carry on.” I opened my eyes and looked down the row of my people. We’ve set a good course and it is time for us to do some calm sailing.

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Tasks Like Beads on a String

I want to knock down a wall in my office. It would combine my office with a small pantry area, thus making my office bigger. It is a lovely plan, and now that I’ve thought of it I can hardly wait. Unfortunately on the office side of the wall are two book cases full of books. These would have to be boxed before the smashing could begin. On the other side of the wall are shelves full of canned food. There is also a freezer. The canned food and freezer need to be relocated to the garage before the smashing can begin.

The garage is something of a wreck. I know exactly where the canned food and the freezer will go, but it requires me to move some shelving, relocate an old drawing table, reorganize the bikes, and generally clean up the garage. One of the things currently filling the garage are left over shipping supplies from the shipping day we had last July. There are also boxes of displays and merchandise which we brought home from the summer conventions. Some of these things are bound for our storage unit. The rest really need to find a home downstairs in my shipping room, which is next to my office on the other side. Before I can begin moving the food and freezer this must all be moved.

My storage room is a complete wreck. It is filled with boxes of merchandise, boxes for shipping merchandise, boxes left over from conventions, and random things which got stacked in there to “be out of the way.” As I need things, I shift the things that are on top of them until nothing is neat and I’m having to wend my way through piles of boxes in order to grab things for shipping. The whole mess needs to be reorganized before I can put anything else in that room, including shipping supplies. Behind the place I stand to do shipping is an under-the-stairs cupboard. It would be an ideal place to stack shipping boxes so that I can grab them easily. Before I can fill it with the shipping boxes from the garage, I have to find a new home for the school supplies and random junk.

My office has a set of cubby cubes. They are poorly organized, half full of games and other random stuff which I shoved in them to be out of the way. These cubbys would be a good place for the school supplies and random junk from the under-the-stairs cupboard. The games in them really belong upstairs in the toy cupboards where the children can find them and play with them.

The upstairs toy cupboards are a jumble. There is no space in them, but there will be once they’ve been organized. Finally I found a task which did not have a “but first I must” in front of it. So that is where I will start. It will probably be a month of Saturdays before I finally manage to get to the task I really wanted to do in the first place. In the mean time I am looking around my house and wondering what idiot organized it so poorly in the first place.

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Busy week

I have spent most of the last two days shipping packages. This is good because it means people have been buying our merchandise. However it means that I’ve fallen behind on almost everything else. Perhaps tomorrow I can catch up.

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Notes on Having Dental Work Done

It helps to have a personable dentist who is willing to explain alarming noises and devices.

That shot of Novocaine may also contain epinephrin. This can trigger an increased heart rate and tremors, which feel quite like the beginning stages of an anxiety/panic attack. That part was not useful or helpful when I was attempting to relax. The numbing was critical though.

The fact that they are miniature does not make me less nervous about the power tools in my mouth.

There is a special light which is used to make fillings set. It shone blue and sounded like a hair dryer.

They can make a piece to fit into a tooth in mere minutes. Then they fit it into the hole they carved out.

Expect to find bits left in the mouth after returning home.

Ibuprofen is my friend, but the post-dental-work ache is much better than the intermittent stabbing pain of decaying tooth.

Hopefully tomorrow my chewing will be back to normal.

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Picking up the Pieces

Here at Chez Tayler life shifts rhythm pretty often. We have the over lapping cycles of school and summer; book preparation and book release; and convention preparations and clean up. These various cycles interact with each other and wreak havoc on my attempts to create helpful life patterns. When our lives shift problems are both created and solved. Sometimes good things get dropped from the schedule and I’m left wondering how we fell out of the habit of family dinner, family home evening, or regular reading. It is normal for good things to accidentally get dropped from the schedule. This is because creating an ideal schedule is impossible to achieve. All I can do is cobble together the best possible schedule for whatever mix of circumstances in which we currently reside. That, and I promise myself to pick up those important pieces and put them back as soon as I possibly can.

We’ve finally reached a point where most of our over-lapping life cycles are in a lull phase. I’m also leaning on the cycles to try to slow them down (or speed them up) and keep things that way for awhile. It is finally time for me to look around and figure out which important pieces need to fit back into the schedule. As usual I have some shiny new pieces that I also want to make fit. On Sunday we had a proper Sunday dinner for the first time in months. This included requiring kids to help cook the meal. On Monday we had family home evening which included a lesson and an activity. The kid chore charts are gathering dust, but the homework board is working well for the younger two. I haven’t been out to do any of the gardening projects I have planned, but the lawn is getting mowed weekly. I haven’t written anything other than blog entries for months, but I did open up my file of agents and begin prepping some queries. I have all these important pieces and some of them don’t fit yet. Shuffling things to make them fit will make some other piece fall out.

Howard came home yesterday. He left when we were barely two weeks into the new school year. Then he was gone for 10 days while we all tried to settle in to a rhythm. Now he is back and things are shifting again. Many business thoughts were on hiatus while he was gone. I have to find space for them again. However having him home is a weight lifted from my shoulders. There is an Us again instead of just me. It makes everything different, even the things which are still my job. Us is stronger than Me.

I just wish I wasn’t stubbing my toes on all these pieces scattered on the floor. At least I can fit in the piece that is this blog entry. I began composing it around 2, but had to hold it in my head until I had time to sit down and write around 10. I’m pretty sure I lost some pieces in the interim. Oh well.

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Toddlers in Tiaras and Parenting

In between all the cleaning I did yesterday, I watched some episodes of Toddlers in Tiaras a documentary/reality show that was filmed for TLC about child beauty pageants. Documentary film interests me not only for the stated subject matter of the show, but also because of the semi-invisible hand of the film crews and the editor. Sometimes the film crews blatantly bait people to do things which show them in a bad light. That didn’t seem to be the case with Toddlers and Tiaras. The film crews attempted to record rather than provoke. This strategy seemed wise since there was plenty of provocative material to go around. Parents were shown coaching, cajoling, and coercing their children into extensive beauty preparations and stage routines. Some of the children really did seem cheerful and happy about the experience. Other times it was obviously the passion of the parent driving all the effort. The children were obviously trying to please and the parents were living out a dream through the child.

I have philosophical issues with the idea of child beauty pageants. I have issues with young children under the age of twelve in any sort of high pressure competition, but even more so with one that teaches young girls that beauty is in paint and hairpieces. My distaste would have led me to turn off the show quickly except that I was fascinated by the psychology on display. These families spent thousands of dollars setting up their kids for pageant appearances, when most of the prizes were much smaller. Some pageants had no cash prizes at all, just crowns. So I watched, trying to figure out where the rewards were that made up for all the costs in time, effort, and money. The only one I could consistently see was the same sorts of parental pride I see at your average playground when a mom watches her son dribble better than his peers.

As I watched, I began to be subtly disturbed, not by the priorities on display, but by the similarities I could see to things that I have done. I watched a mother talk her daughter into doing another pageant by counting her Eighty-seven crowns. Another mother used implications of shame to get her son to practice walking and looking at the judges. A third mother told her daughter that sometimes pain is necessary to be beautiful. I’ve never tried to deliver those particular messages, but I’ve had moments that were shaped exactly the same when I needed to talk a child into going to school, to get a vaccination, or to clean up after herself. I’ve used the same sorts of words, body language, and facial expressions. These pageant parents love their children and honestly believe that they are doing something good. From where I stand it looks like most of them are instead being driven by some internal need which is other than the good of the child. Then I must wonder and pay attention to my own choices, knowing that some of my choices will look values-skewed to someone viewing them from outside. It is my responsibility to double check myself, and make sure that the paths I am leading myself and my child along are good ones.

Predictably, this is television after all, the parents get more demanding as the series goes along. This is in part because the show moves to the higher-prize, higher-pressure pageants. I suspect it is also due to editing choices. The show sets out to expose a subculture, not to explain it. There is no second season, I suspect after the first one no one else would consent to be filmed.

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