Category: Thoughts and Reflections

Reprint: Missouri Hope

Note: This is a reprint of a post I made two years ago for Missouri Hope:

When I’m not a professor or a writer, I’m a moulage artist.

I do this work 2-3 times a year, making up volunteers to look like accident victims sporting injuries from broken legs to burns to drowning to long lacerations. It’s illusion, done with wax and grease paint and fake blood (there are good fake blood recipes at the link).

The big event of the year is Missouri Hope, three days of training in the rough for undergraduates, nurses, and emergency personnel. As the moulage coordinator, this takes a lot of preparation — inventory, ordering, prepping materials, and taking a deep breath and hoping I’ll have enough volunteers to help (recruiting is not part of my duties).

It starts this evening. I will have dinner with my fellow staff, from team and lane controller/evaluators to logistics and operations staff to our catering crew. I know many of these people from the university and from previous exercises. One of them is a current student of mine; another a former student. One is my husband. I feel at home in this crowd, which is part of the reason I’ve been doing moulage for 12 years.

This is me doing moulage. It’s my least gory picture.

I’ve gotten to where doing moulage is second nature, and I can do it pretty quickly. I can’t do it too quickly; injuries like lacerations and breaks require a layer of wax followed by a layer of latex followed by a layer of castor oil followed by a layer of makeup.

I have all my supplies (except the castor oil I’m hunting for) ready to go. The fun starts tomorrow.

A New Book on the Horizon

A sure sign that I don’t like where a book is going — I lay out the bones of another book.

I just made a sketchy outline of the next Kringle book, which I traditionally don’t start working on until November. Oh, wait, it’s only three weeks until November! This is about the time I start laying out the next book!

Traditionally, I write my books during NaNoWriMo, the international writing movement which takes place during November. I will write in November, but I will not be using NaNo’s infrastructure, due to the controversy around its support of AI for writing. I will have to find other motivational tools. Maybe Written? Kitten! or Pacemaker. Or maybe I’ve outgrown the need for the graphs and awards of NaNo.

I’m also working on the playlist. I make a new playlist for each novel I write, not necessarily to listen to while writing, but to get the feel for the novel in my head. This year’s, for some reason, is tending toward bossa nova, even though it’s set in one of my favorite places on Earth — the alternate version of Starved Rock. There’s a lot of bossa nova Christmas music out there, by the way.

But it’s time to work on prepping the Christmas novel, at any rate.

Lazy Days

Daily writing prompt
Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?
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The prompt is, “Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?” The answer is “Yes.” I feel rested and unproductive at the same time.

I’ve been needing a lot of lazy days lately. Not that it’s a hard semester at work, but that it’s a somewhat busy one. I have lots of grading to do, lots of students to visit, and lots of meetings. I jealously guard my free time these days.

Yet I still feel guilty when I take a lazy day. I could be writing. I could be doing housework. How dare I be unproductive!

I relish my lazy days and feel guilty about being unproductive. Not a way to enjoy lazy days. I need to either take the day off and not feel guilty or do something.

AI Steals My Words

I’m tempted to have AI blog for me today, because I’m tired from lack of sleep. But I would never do that, because I know what generative AI is: a plagiarism of what’s available on the Internet.

Artificial intelligences such as Chat GPT are “trained” on Internet content. That means the AI studies composition, word usage, style, and content. It captures the writing itself and uses it in other combinations for its own work. What makes my writing unique is my choice of usage, style, composition, and content.

I’m a writer. I don’t like that generative AI can take my work and make it theirs. It seems like an appropriation of my creativity and that of others. I especially don’t like what it does to visual artists, because stealing pieces of images seems more blatant than just stealing words.

Somewhere, an artificial intelligence is scanning this and putting the information in with other writings it’s scanned. And maybe it will spit it out verbatim into someone else’s writing. I don’t know, and maybe that’s the worst part.

A Late Bloomer

Daily writing prompt
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
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I don’t think I felt like a grownup until I hit my late 50s.

I’ve spent much of my adult life exuberant, incautious, playful. Despite the Ph.D. I was the one who laughed when I heard something funny or delightful in a meeting, who walked barefoot in rainstorms, who gravitated toward the carousel. It wasn’t that I was immature; it’s just that I didn’t reject childish ways.

This has only changed in the past few years. I don’t seem to have as much curiosity, as much glee in just living. I’m cautious, almost fearful, as if I can see all the ways in which things could go awry. I seem to have become staid. I am disturbed by this. I feel like I’m missing an important part of me.

Maybe (probably?) I have been a grownup all along, but I’m now missing this aspect of myself that tempered all the work it took me to get a Ph.D. and tenure. I want my childlike character back; it could help me through the aches and pains of old age.

The Writing Slump Continues

Daily writing prompt
What have you been putting off doing? Why?
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I have been putting off writing. This is surprising because it’s my flow exercise, the thing that keeps me going. Still, I haven’t written in days. I can tell that I’m reaping the effects of not writing in lower well-being and some anxiety attacks.

Why am I not writing, if it’s such an important thing for me? Frustration with my stories. I don’t like where either of my stories are going, and I don’t know how to fix them. So I’ve been avoidant.

I feel like I need to start a new story, that my current stories are so flawed that I can’t continue. But I don’t feel inspired for a new story. I’m not sure what to do.

It’s probably a day for free-writing. I keep saying this, but I keep putting that off as well. Time to quit procrastinating.

In Memory: Me-Me

Me-Me, my seventeen-year-old kitten, died yesterday afternoon. She had been aging for a while, going through what looked like a bout of feline senility, so it wasn’t unexpected.

We adopted her as a kitten from the neighbor’s. One afternoon, there was a knock on the door and my husband and I answered it to two little girls who wanted to know if we wanted a kitten because the local tom had killed all the male kittens in the litter and they wanted to save these kittens. I decided on the grey-and-white kitten, and we named her Me-Me, because she liked to be the center of my attention.

Meemerz was a one-person cat for much of the time, and that one person was me. She would hiss and bite Richard, until one day she warmed up to him and became our cat.

She was always a bit — flaky. Ditzy. Flighty. Spacy. Whatever word you choose to denote a cat who seems a little … vacant up there. She wasn’t cognitively impaired, just an airhead. Like she didn’t have a thought in the world. We imagined her saying things like “Why are clouds?” and “Food?”

This morning seems a little empty without my geriatric cat sitting on the couch.