This morning I sat down with one of those bitty lists, the kind that grow out of being away. I arrived back home, here down south to Narnia yesterday afternoon. It was cold.
I’d left my warm second home, my daughter, her partner and my grand-pup. The dog knew something was going on when I lugged the case onto the bed and unpacked to repack it. His big brown eyes nearly made me cry. Pets can really give you a guilt trip.
In a few hours, I would leave my place of gestation and childhood and return to the world of now: a middle-aged woman writing a memoir about anorexia, the 70’s and being a wog.
Initially, the undisturbed quiet freaked me out. I had wandered from the place of centred calm into the zone of the inner critic. The manuscript drove me near mad at times, writing, rewriting and always finding another issue. The Frenchie bored, jumped off the couch in search of amusement.
The antagonist bothered me. It was a complicated web, fashion, beauty, the inner critic, intelligence, acceptance and exhaustion. The dog dropped his slobbery ball on my bare leg. Time for a walk, his eyes beckoned, so we wandered among the wetlands staccato style as he sniffed every tree.
Returning home, I abandoned a well made writing plan, in favour of google. Recent visits by a couple of high school friends, Brisbane and the solitude had unearthed fodder for consideration. I found that my friends remembered things differently to me. We each had our unique lens.
Google gave me a hand.
The images of beauty and fashion in 1974 took me straight back there. I looked into the back ground of Dolly, Cleo and Cosmopolitan. It was a volatile time. Women had discovered their rights and sexuality and weren’t afraid to say so. Some still ascribed to an older model of being from the 50’s and 60’s. The marketing machine stove to engage these women into the game of consumerism.
I strove to understand the unseen forces at play in our lives. How often are we unwittingly manipulated by marketing? Everyday and in every way subtle effects augment our desires through media channels. Short of sitting in a cave meditating, it is difficult to divest oneself from these influences.
So my antagonist grew into an encompassing pervading subliminal influence. But one small detail remained. How do I portray my personal interaction with this unseen entity? Work in progress. I am sleeping on it and shall then begin to restructure once again.
Does anyone have any ideas? I’d love to hear them.