Help Gigi Decide How to Seize the Day (Take Two)

Blogger ate this original post along with its comments when it went down on Thursday, so here's a recreation.

Exciting news: Beginning this summer, I'll be taking a part-time sabbatical at my job to work 28 hours a week for a whole year! The question is... What do I do with all of my new free time? Now that the day is quickly approaching, I don't know which projects to focus on.

Below are some of my ideas. Any arguments as to why I should focus on one over another would be greatly appreciated! I can do more than one of these, but I can't do everything.

(Note: I already arrange my schedule so that I can already spend 10 hours per week writing without giving up my nights and weekends with friends and family. Thus, I'm not going to simply say I'll "write more," because I already feel like I can handle one book a year in my Jaya Jones mystery series after kicking things off with an intensive NaNoWriMo draft.)

1.  Read the John Dickson Carr canon. There's never enough time to read everything I hope to read. The classics don't make it to the top of my reading list nearly often enough -- and by "classics," of course I mean mysteries from the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.

John Dickson Carr, who wrote brilliant impossible-crime mysteries, is my favorite author of that era. He wrote 70 novels, but I've read only 30 of them so far. Many of his books are out of print, so it's a challenge to track them down, but I've been working on it and wanting to do more. His books also have gorgeous pulpy covers (like the one shown here with Dorian the gargoyle), so I love collecting the these books for their cover art as well. I'm thinking I could find and read one of his books per week in addition to my usual pile of books, perhaps also posting a photo of the cover with some thoughts over at Gargoyle Girl.

2. Try my hand at book cover design. Since I'm a graphic designer and love book covers, perhaps I should try to break into doing book cover design.

The challenge? I have no idea how that side of the publishing industry works. I took at book cover design class in art school (photos of my class projects at right) so I know the creative side, but that's it. So this is an idea that has zero basis in reality, but is a daydream about another way I'd love to be involved in the book world.

3. Rewrite the Young Adult mystery book I drafted last year. My agent and a very wise critique partner insist that this book, DEVIL'S CREEK, needs a major rewrite if it's ever to see the light of day -- as in splitting the book into a trilogy so it has depth and focus and isn't so damn complex. I'll need a whole lot of help if I'm going to do it. Is this massive amount of work worth it? I'm not sure.

4. Take French classes.I've always been good at seizing travel opportunities that arise, but I've never been good at mastering foreign languages. I studied French in high school, so with some work I could get to the point where I could converse with people. I know it's possible to get by in a country without the language, but I feel like I'm so close to being able to do it right.

5. Do more with photography. I started the Gargoyle Girl Blog for my New Year's Resolution as an incentive to organize the thousands of negatives and digital files I've shot over the years -- the majority of them gargoyle and other mysterious photos. I've got a lot more work to do to tackle my negatives.

I've also toyed with the idea of selling my gargoyle photos at istockphoto, or maybe even selling fine art prints through Etsy. But the reason I've got a day job as a designer, rather than working as a freelancer, is because I suck at business. Etsy sure is tempting, though...

6. Write a steampunk novel. I don't have a fully formed idea here, and maybe I'm just inspired by reading Gail Carriger's very cool Parasol Protectorate series right now (Alexia reminds me of a supernatural version of Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody).

What I've got is an idea of a kick-ass female alchemist who popped into my head while I was writing a short story. Bethany Faust can solve impossible-seeming crimes that end up having rational explanations. She looks a bit like Switch in The Matrix, she's got a pet gargoyle -- and the imagery surrounding her in my head is very steampunk.

7. Take art classes. I miss creating random art like the silkscreen print at left. My screens are currently gathering dust in the garage. I meant to set up a messy art table in the garage when we moved into our new house in late 2009, but it never happened. Now it's already two years later.

Figuring out how to seize the day is proving to be tougher than I thought!

--Gigi

How Martha Learned to Carpe Diem

The first I heard about carpe diem it wasn't from my parents or a friend.

It was Mr. Robin Williams.



I offer the scene in question to you, because he said it better than I could.


We are food for worms, lad.

Savor the Moment

by Lisa Hughey

To me, Carpe Diem, seize the day, has always meant this epic, larger than life ideal to really live life to the fullest.

I’m a little conservative, a little cautious. I need to plan and organize and construct things. That doesn’t mean I never did anything or went anywhere but even when I seized the day, I had a plan.

And then I had my children. It’s quite a bit different to wax poetic about grand adventures after you come to the understanding that your children depend on you for everything.

It was a moment fraught with tension and sudden irrevocable shock when life finally hit me over the head with the realization that these perfect little beings, who will grow up to be neither perfect nor little, will need me (as some form of caretaker, guidance counselor, financier or friend) for the rest of my life.

For someone who tried to plan, not necessarily every moment, but make a structured outline for life, my children came in and detonated those plans like a suitcase full of C4 and life has never, ever been the same.

Every mother has that day...tired and overwhelmed and stressed about all the small things you need to deal with before you have to get up and do it again tomorrow. The kids’ futures, the past due gas and electric bill, the bully who won’t leave your kid alone, the refrigerator doesn’t seem to working properly, your spouse’s job is not going so well, your job is going even worse, laundry, what to fix for dinner because suddenly the kids don’t want the pasta that you’ve been making for years, bills, your own hopes and disappointments.

And then your sweet, adorable yet still a total PITA child tells you at six o’clock that they forgot they need to make a complicated African recipe for English class tomorrow. Or they need to talk about a boy or a girl they like. Or they want you to proofread a paper, but it’s not quite done yet.

And your first instinct is to sit down and weep because really you can’t handle one more obligation right now. Forget seizing the day, how about a dark room and little peace.

For awhile I got so wrapped up in the minutiae of handling every day life that I forgot to take time to savor the small moments. And then one day, I suddenly realized that while being there on the day they graduate from pre-school, their first day of kindergarten or middle school, the first time they take a step, ride a bike, or ask a girl to prom is important...it’s just as important to seize the love and gratitude and wonder in those private quiet moments when it’s no one else but me and my baby. Now I take the time to connect with them, talk to them. Instead of wanting to cry, I’m thankful that they trust me to be there for them no matter what happened and what kind of help they need. They know I love them.

And I finally learned I need to savor that joy...because in the grand scheme of things, those small fleeting moments are just as epic as seizing the day.

Cherrypicking

L.G.C. Smith

For those of us living in 21st century developed countries, the aphorism carpe diem resonates with all the echoes of more uncertain times and places. Affluence and technology buy us insulation from the ravages of the unpredictable. War. Famine. Disease. Tyranny. We enjoy advantages on a scale unimaginable to most of the people who have ever lived.

Yet our margin of grace remains fragile. Death awaits us all. Chaos and unlooked for change are ever with us. Loss, real and imagined, defines so much of what we want and what we do. Thus do we take heart in the charge of those two Latin words: Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

Pluck the finest bits, as the other Pens so articulately wrote last week. Wear your best perfume just because you love it. Spin orange merino/silk yarn and kiss your wife. Rent a villa in Italy for your 50th birthday. Greet with joy the husband and children you never expected. Spellcheck your tattoos.

It can be a challenge not to use an ethos of carpe diem to justify anything we want to do, especially things that are self-indulgent, unwise, or which carry potentially sobering consequences. We all do this. I surely do. Rather than enumerating that tedious (and lengthy) list, I want to share some thoughts about a dear friend and family member who died Friday, a woman whose spirit captures some of the ways in which I would most like to seize the rest of my days.

I don’t know all the details of Betty Carlson’s life, and what I once knew I’ve likely forgotten in the thirty years since I first met her. Betty was 61 years old then and had lived three times as long as I had and packed quite a lot of day seizing into those years. She was a writer, a woman of faith, and a gentle soul possessed of deep feeling and insight. She didn’t needed to show off how smart she was or how witty she could be, though she was both wickedly observant and quietly funny. She and my husband’s beloved Aunt Jane, a great Godsend to us, with whom Betty lived for a long time – again, I don’t know how long, but at least forty years – are among the most gracious, generous people I’ve ever met.

I met Betty when I went to study at L’Abri Fellowship in Huémoz, Switzerland in 1981 where she and Jane worked. I met my husband there, and more wonderful people than I can count. I was particularly impressed with Betty. She was a working writer.


(Here's a detail from one of Betty's drawings. That's her in the lounge chair with a glass of lemonade while Jane gardens.)

I knew I wanted to write, so I watched her and talked to her when I could. I read her books, which charmed me completely. She was encouraging, steadfast, and immensely kind. She spoke softly and smiled often. She traveled, studied constantly, and lived a simple (though far from small) life in a tiny village in glorious mountains. She met new people with an open mind and heart. She wrote diligently. When it wasn’t always easy, she didn’t stop.

I could see myself being a writer the way Betty was a writer. She gave me images of a writing life that countered the storied excesses, instability and despair of so many famous writers. I didn’t want to be like Sylvia Plath or Hunter S. Thompson. Betty opened possibilities to me, ways to be a writer that would allow me to cherrypick the worthy aspects of carpe diem and not begrudge the ripe fruit left beyond my reach for those with longer arms or wings. It remains a rich and treasured gift, just one of many given throughout Betty’s long and loving life.

Tattoo You

I'll start off by admitting that I forgot to get a post on Lies ready for last Friday. And yes I could come up with some fabulous lie about why I didn't do it but I won't. I'll just, uh, seize the new topic. ;)

I could get all deep and philosophical about Seizing the Day but I'll leave that to you writers -- the four of you who have gone before me have written such beautiful stuff. Wow! So instead of competing I decided to look up Carpe Diem on Google to see what it means to various people... and I'm afraid I got distracted. I mean, who wouldn't??! Check this out!



First of all, is that a stomach? If so, where's the belly button? I'm so confused!

And I couldn't stop there... apparently Carpe Diem tattoos are all the rage. Here's another awesome one.



I'm imagining the conversation when a lucky lady pulls up the shirt above those camo pants -- Carpe Diem right on what we used to call the "pathway to pleasure" (you know, that line of hair that leads from the belly button down)-- yeah baby, seize the day, and while you're at it, seize the, you know...

Okay this one is serious -- this guy is actually super cool...



He is known as "Da Pirate" and he's a HIV/AIDS survivor who is a passionate advocate for HIV and AIDS education - he has truly seized the day. Sounds like an incredible individual.

OMG here is a great one!



At first I was like what the hell? And then I realized it's a CARP. Wow. I mean WOW. That must have been seriously painful. And it suddenly makes me wonder -- if I get my ass covered by a tattoo, would it make it look any smaller? I'll get back to you on that.

Looking at tattoos online is sort of like playing "name the body part" -- anyone have a guess at this next one?



I need to know. In case I want to get one there. Oh wait, my daughter just said it was someone pulling down their pants -- and now that she's said that, I can totally see it. I thought it was like half a boob. Really, stay with me here, that crack could be cleavage, right? Dang! I guess it's been a long time since I've seen a naked bod. ;)

Okay, last one -- I couldn't resist!



Might want to, you know, check a dictionary perhaps, before you're branded for LIFE. Some other really funny misspellings here.

This reminds me of my fave tattoo parlor name: "Scarred for Life Tattoos" (in Boulder, Colorado). Love that!

Okay, enough! :) Now back to your regularly scheduled programming of posts by real writers... Though thanks for inviting me over to play!

maddee, who has tattooed eyeliner and a swirl on her foot, but no Karpe Deims as of yet.

Seizing Different Days

--Adrienne Miller

When I was nineteen I accompanied my friend, Abbott, to the tattoo shop. He was getting his family crest on his arm and it was going to take a while. I kept him company. I remember the sound of the place and the traffic passing by on the busy street outside. I remember his first winces until he became used to the steady pricking at his arm. And I can remember that we laughed a lot that day. But the only topic I can specifically recall us talking about was how profound it was to willingly put a mark on your body that would follow you to your grave. 

Life is fabulously simple when you’re nineteen. Back then I knew exactly what I wanted out of life. I was an actress and it was all that I wanted to do. I thought that I might get married someday to some one dark and artistic, but no kids, thank you very much. I would travel the world. I knew my own mind and there was no one that could tell me different. Abbott was off to play football at UNLV. 

But then life came at me quick, just as it does to most people. Years passed, and I fell out of touch with most of the friends that I’d had when I was nineteen. A few, like Abbott, I regret, but most I can look back now and see that we either outgrew our friendship or were never all that good for each other in the first place. I met a man who made me laugh and feel good about myself, and that ended up being far more important than anything else. I fell out of love with the theatre and in love with the stories in my head. I still wanted to travel but now had to figure out how to do it while juggling a day job and two kids. Life didn’t look a thing like the plan I’d had when I was nineteen.

Looking back, I can’t imagine what my life would like if all of my nineteen-year-old dreams had come true. That’s not entirely true. What I mean to say is, I can’t imagine me happy if those dreams had come true. I seized different days than I thought I would. I said yes to things my teenage self never could have imagined agreeing to, and no when my heart didn’t line up with my head’s vision of the future. 

I was in a pub when I found out that Abbott had died. An old friend who worked there told me. Car accident. His memorial service was filled stories of all the things he’d done since I’d seen him last. He’d mastered kung fu and become a vegan. Wow, didn’t see that coming. He lived a short, brilliant, beautiful life. And while I’m sorry that I only got to share a little of it with him, the truth is when we walked out of that tattoo studio that day fifteen years ago, he and I just choose to seize different days.

To hell with Someday

by Juliet

My mother's recent death --and before that, her long slide into ill health and dementia-- taught me precisely the opposite of what my ever-practical and frugal parents would have intended: I'm more determined than ever to live for today. I'm planning on spending my money and my time with abandon and joy and love.

I should mention that I'm a capitalist's nightmare. Shopping malls give me headaches. My stereo is at least twenty years old, and my TV is a cast-off relic the neighbors put out on trash day. I still own (and use) a VCR. My wardrobe might gain or lose a few pieces over the years, but if you compare conference pictures from five years ago to today...well, let's just say I'd prefer the internet didn't have such a long memory.

So I'm a natural saver, and I understand it's important to pay one's bills, and save for a rainy day, and to put away for retirement.

Still, I can't help but notice the following:

1) People sometimes die unexpectedly, never able to enjoy their savings
2) Conversely, a lot of people get progressively ill until they die
3) A whole lot of people never get to enjoy what they've worked so hard for because, by the time they're ready to, they're too old, too sick, or too dead.

So whenever I get too practical, too sensible, I remind myself of the summer I spent in Italy.

My whole life I had a fantasy of studying art "someday". Though I've painted all my life I had never taken an actual class in the subject I loved, because art seemed far too frivolous to pursue seriously.

Then one day, in passing, someone told me about the Florence Institute of Art. My fantasy surged up and took hold of my heart. I tried hard to talk myself out of even thinking about it.

I was self-employed at the time, running my own business. I had no such thing as paid vacation. Work wouldn't get done. I had a young son. There was no legitimate reason to go.

But when I looked into it...it became impossible to say no. I discovered it was affordable (the dollar was strong back then). My six-year-old's father agreed to pay his way. A friend of a friend put me in touch with someone who had a cheap apartment for rent, three blocks from the Duomo. For the price of a plane ticket, a good friend agreed to come along and look after my son while I painted.

I ran out of "someday" excuses, and wound up spending an entire summer in Firenze with my son, one of my best friends, and thousands of the most beautiful, artistic, people in the world.

It still counts as one of the best times in my life.

I don't remember the expense, or the work I didn't do, or the hassle of traveling -- with a child, no less. Instead, I remember the scent of linseed oil and the glistening skin of the artists' models (with no air conditioning, Firenze is a sultry place in July.) I remember holding original Da Vinci drawings in my hands. I remember meandering down the paths of the Boboli gardens, and laughing with my son as we tried to eat our gelato before it melted in the heat. I remember drinking wine in cafes with fellow artists from all over Europe. I remember my son being coddled in restaurant kitchens, playing with local kids in the city pool, and learning to shout "scuzzi!" as we navigated the crowded stone streets of the city.

I remember the magic.

So even though I don't really have the time, the money, or any legitimate reason for doing it...I'm planning on renting a house in the Italian countryside for my 50th birthday, in 2012.

I plan to dedicate the trip to the memory of my mother, a sweet, sensible soul who would have loved to go to Italy, "someday". She never made it.

Any adventurous friends willing to throw caution to the winds, shout carpe diem, and join me?

Where We End Up

I was thinking about our topic today, on my day off. Carpe Diem is one of those phrases it would all do us well to hang in front of our computers and put near our beds, because we forget it so often. Or at least I do.

I think of myself as an accidental Buddhist. Accepting the now is one of the most important things to me, and therefore, it's the thing I have the most difficult time remembering. I'm constantly living in the future: when I sell another series of books, when we have a little more money, when I manage to get more sleep. I put off things that are important (walks with friends, meals made from scratch, letters written by hand) for those things that are easy and expedient (email, microwaved dinners, sleeping pills).

So today, with our topic in mind, I:

* Cleaned out my office. I couldn't stand the way it was cluttered for one more day. The way my office looks is the way my mind feels, and the three hours it took to remove/trash/sort was rewarded INSTANTLY by the way my brain feels as I sit at my desk now. Calm. Relaxed. Unafraid.

* Packed up the dogs and met my sister in the cemetery for a long ramble. We talked about hard stuff, and good stuff, and writing stuff, and then we just peeked into the crypts to see what we could spy (playing cards! a banana peel! nothing of interest in the Ghiradelli crypt, and there SHOULD be!). There's nothing like a jaunt through a gorgeous cemetery to remind you that now is all we have.

* Threw a bunch of things in a pot for a dinner of chipotle black bean soup. The immediacy of chopping things is something I love. I'm not at all good at it, and I frequently chop my fingers as well as the onion, but making good food is one of my favorite things to do. I want to remember to do it more often.

Tonight, I will: Spin some orange merino/silk on my spinning wheel. I will watch some TV because I haven't in a few weeks, and I love relaxing in front of it when I can. I will kiss my wife and tell her I love her. I will laugh at the dogs' ridiculous antics. I will cuddle a cat or two. I'll rejoice when I lie down flat in my bed, and I'll sleep with the window open because the jasmine is blooming. It's worth the stuffy nose in the morning to be able to wake at 3am to that dark, sweet scent.

PS - If I do end up kicking it early, scatter my ashes like this: at the top of Mountain View Cemetery (don't pay for it! just walk and scatter -- I won't tell) in Oakland, with a wee bit kept out to put in the SF Columbarium and a wee bit for Venice, too. Oh, lovely. Isn't it? I've never really known where I wanted to end up (really, who cares?) but I like this plan very much.