Monthly Archives: October 2013
Two bird houses have been cut out with the third one partly done with intentions to finish tomorrow. Tomorrow also sees me attending a hockey game in which my two oldest grandsons are playing on the same team. And, of course, I intend on getting a good start on the NaNoWriMo novel challenge. Tomorrow is supposed to be better weather than today’s cool, windy and overcast conditions. In a few minutes I will be handing out Halloween treats to local children. Of course that means I will have to put some clothes back on before I station myself at the door to greet the little trick or treaters. If I didn’t, I would likely soon end up in serious legal difficulties, something to which I am very averse. I like my freedom.
Today has been a good day, a day off from writing as I have finished my previous writing project. I even had time to do a bit of light reading during the lunch hour. I have recently set up a Facebook page and it can be found on the front page of this blog site. The URL is: http://www.facebook.com/Skyclad.Robert/ simple enough for me to remember. All of my posts here will be published with notices sent to that site as well as at the Twitter account @SkyCladTherapy. If you have Twitter and/or Facebook accounts, please don’t hesitate to link up with me there as well.
Well, with one day left to go, I have declared my practice novel done. I will save the novel for what will likely be major editing if I am to ever publish it, even self-publish it. I have written over 50,000 words within a thirty day limit which was my primary objective, in novel form. During that time I have taken off more than a week of writing time, more like ten days, to do other pressing things that are part of being in a family and preparing a home for the shift from summer to winter. On Friday I will begin the NaNoWriMo novel. Rather than being a bit worn out from all of the writing done during October, I am finding myself sitting on pins and needles ready to begin.
Tomorrow is Halloween, an event I have come to dislike because of all of the commercialism and the loss of whatever once existed that was sacred. Something within my genes, some Celtic roots resonates with the celebration of Samhain, the Celtic origins of Halloween. For my ancestors in Brittany, it was called Kalan Goañv.
I will be at the door ready to give out treats to neighbourhood children in spite of my aversion to the commercialism. My treat this year is a box of natural fruit juice – no more overdose of sugars will come out of my house. Samhain is a harvest festival and I feel that the juice of nature’s fruit is more than appropriate as a treat for all my evening visitors whether they are in or out of costumes. I imagine that many will be wearing bits of their costumes that fit over their warm winter wear.
Now, to return to the outline of my NaNoWriMo novel while I sit with a hot cup of coffee.
There is not enough to keep me busy as it is, so I am trying to do a blog post using my new Nexus 7. The photo included is one I took with the tablet. There is a reason for attempting this, it is to attempt blogging with my tablet while walking the Camino sometime in the future.
On the writing front, I have returned to the practice novel after a two day hiatus. The work now sits with 46,000 words and three more days to go to reach my objective of 50,000 words.
I did get out for a long walk as well with my good wife, a walk in the sunshine. It was cold enough to require wearing gloves and a touque – winter approaches. Life on the prairies at this time of the year is not kind to naturism. Indoor nudism is what is left and that with a warm wrap kept close at hand. But rather than complain, one just gets tougher, acclimatized. Now, to try publishing.
Yes, the first snowflakes of the 2013-2014 late fall-winter season are falling here on the Canadian prairies. I have been doing some work with Photoshop Elements 10 with some of my photos in order to try and capture mood and psychological states of being. The results are interesting as you can see by this example. And yes, I am distracting myself from writing with this activity.
Another distraction is that of learning how to work with an android tablet, a Nexus 7. It is a fairly large learning curve which I though should happen before I begin the NaNoWriMo challenge on Friday. Yesterday I attended a warmup event for writers in this region of the prairies. I got to work through some ideas for the novel I will write so it made the time spent there worthwhile. I set up for problems with five major characters and a flow up scenes-settings for all of this to occur. I still have to come up with names for these characters, but there is no pressure, yet.
Another distraction, one of the best that I can think of, is the task of putting together Christmas gifts for four of six grandsons. The oldest two are more interested in money for some strange reason – teenagers. For the three in the middle, it’s toolboxes with an assortment of tools. I will cut out some birdhouses for them to construct with those tools as part of their gift. The youngest also gets to do some building with wood and then will use a paint set to decorate the two items. As well as the construction set, another item that will be warmly welcomed will be in his gift.
As a final note, it has been very windy and overcast with the temperature not getting above freezing all day – not a good day for enjoying a lot of clothing free time.
The house is quiet and empty save for a small electric space heater humming in my office as I sit still in order to be here. I find myself easily distracted with forays into social media in order to sense the presence of others. Are they really there? Or are these presences hauntings of inner presences, complexes and their underlying connection with archetypes? As I add in a few words, here and there through the invisible spaces between my keyboard
and the visible platforms that take shape, my words take on their own presence, distant yet connected. Responses to these words are just that, responses to the words as though the words are actually a person. Each interaction becomes something more and something less that what perhaps was consciously intended. If anything, the spaces in between are indeed haunted by a swirling chaos of projections by self and others. And in those spaces, stories are being written.
“So, what is the “real” story of our lives? Are they all real or all unreal, all provisional? There are the stories we tell ourselves, and the stories we tell others. Some of them may even be true. But what are the stories which are storying their way through our dai- ly lives and of which we are mostly if not wholly unaware? What are the stories that represent our rationalizations, our defenses, the stories in which we remain stuck like flies in molasses? “ [James Hollis, Hauntings, p. 5]
As the darkness begins to lift with the approaching dawn, the ghosts are banished and life begins to take form. I begin to feel the chill in the air on my bare skin and sense the presence of others in my life, both in the house and in the houses of neighbours who are beginning to stir and turn on lights in their insulated homes. With night banished, I more easily return back to the world of ego and things.
I’ve been writing furiously in an attempt to stay warm as I am loathe to put the house temperature very high as the weather outside has turned damp and cold. Writing au naturel isn’t as easy as one would think when there is a deep chill in the air. I refuse to cave in and put on some clothing as a means to keep warm. Rather, I’d rather acclimatize my body, make it tougher. So far, it’s working as I spend almost every waking hour clothing free when I am indoors.
The cold is making me think of the return to Mexico. I have talked with out villa owner about the winter of 2015 so that I can make sure that the cozy little apartment doesn’t get rented out to some one else. It’s a neat little one-roomed apartment that was once the art studio of the current owner’s mother. Bits of art are everywhere in the studio apartment and in the small courtyard surrounded by eight-foot cement block walls that are the norm in the Mayan Riviera. That wall gives me a private space for my morning nude meditation when the weather is appropriate which happens to be most of the mornings. Every once in a while I take advantage of that privacy for a few moments in the sun. However, most days, I head to the clothing optional beach which is a two kilometre hike to the north along the Caribbean coast.
Ah, just thinking about it returns a feeling of warmth. Now, it’s time to do the evening meal dishes – au naturel, of course.
This morning began like almost every morning once it becomes too cool to sit outside. I took my cup of coffee to my side of the love seat beside my wife and together we watched the dark sky begin to ease into dawn. After a second cup, it then is time to turn on my laptop and discover small little treasures to be found there – e-mails from friends, Tweets from the Twitterverse, status updates on FB, and the latest blog post offerings from those that I follow. And when all is done, it is time for a light breakfast before I head into my home office to return to writing the practice novel. It now stands at 37,000 words which means I should have no trouble in writing 50,000 words in thirty days.
Of course, this practice novel is not a throw-away project. I will be continuing on with it until it gets finished once the NaNoWriMo project is completed. I will be publishing the both of them at some point using some sort of self-publishing, print on demand service so that I can give copies to my adult children, hopefully as Christmas presents, along with the poetry book that is being readied for publishing. I guess this sort of makes it official. I am a writer, a poet, and now a novelist as well.
Yes, that was as good as it was able to get this afternoon while I was turning over the garden soil in preparation for winter. I have a small roto-tiller so that I can break up the packed dirt as well as mix in the egg shells, coffee grinds and leaves into the heavy clay soil of our garden. Since it was sunny, just a hint of a breeze and a balmy 12 Celsius (54F), off came the sweater and light jacket while I worked half-naked. I would have liked to remove more, but alas, it’s not to be in our little town on the prairies.
My writing project is progressing well as I have written 28,000 words so far for the “practice” novel. Don’t let the word practice fool you. This work will continue once the NaNoWriMo novel is completed in November. As November approaches, the idea for my challenge novel is beginning to give me hints as to what is to come. I have a few ideas such as story set with a young man discovering naturism while in search of his Magical Other. The second possibility is to have the story centre on a middle-aged man who says the hell with it all in order to go and live in a naturist community. So far I am tending to the first idea, both in terms of audience and trying to capture the magic that each of us experiences when we fall in love. I am a bit hesitant to wrestle with the second scenario at this point as it would have a very limited audience and be extremely difficult to write in order to present an idea of social nudity in psychological terms that is realistic.
With the approach of winter, I am finding quite a few tasks that need to get done while I still have decent weather to do them. For example, I will be heading out a little later this week in order to “rescue” some old barn wood which I will then turn into frames for my first daughter who will use them with her scrap-booking enterprise. I will also use some of the wood to make bird house kits for my second daughter’s three boys as I will be putting together some tool boxes for them as Christmas gifts this year – tools and a waiting project. In addition, I have some patching up of old nail holes and a repainting of two rooms that I hope to finish before the first of November. Busy times ahead.
I was busy in the garden this afternoon turning over the soil and mixing in leaves, coffee grinds and egg shells in preparation of the coming winter snow. Because the temperature was eleven degrees celsius with no wind and radiant sunshine, I was able to work with my chest bared to the sun, probably the last day I will be able to do so until I go to Mexico for my winter sojourn. Full nudity is confined to the house, especially while I am busy writing. Still, that means most of my waking day is spent nude as the evening when I relax with my wife in the living room, clothing is discarded in favour of a housecoat just in case we get company or more likely, an evening chill.
I am shifting back to this Sky Clad site, co-publishing each post in order to keep those who continue to check in here in case there is something new posted. I am amazed that as many people show up each day as there has been over the past several months. I will also be bringing all the posts written at Naturist’s Lens here so that one site mirrors the other site.
It’s good to be back.
Yesterday I didn’t do any writing on my practice novel. I took the day off to spend time with my daughter and her family. We travelled with others to watch a Thanksgiving weekend football game. The bus ride there and back gave her and I a chance to get caught up as her world has been filled to the brim with her sons, husband and her work. Funny how life seems to bring long spaces of separation from those we love. It was a good day, our team won in spite of playing a lousy game, and I got to share the day with two grandsons and my first child.
This morning I got back to writing and want to bring the results here as another peek into the story. After all, Will comments that he wants to read more. Perhaps when the story is done there will be enough interest for me to to through the process of publishing the book. But that is for another day. Now, to the story.
~ ~ ~
“What’s the matter, Hugh?” asked Enid as we walked down the old paved road passed the golf course still buried beneath snow. It was Sunday afternoon and I had said that I needed to get out for a walk. The wind had picked up a bit and the cold had deepened. Winter on the Canadian prairies often made the daily walk an exercise in will power and well as exercise for the body.
“I don’t really know what’s the matter, Babe. I thought that it would start getting better already. But I just seem to be getting more and more confused and depressed, if that’s possible.”
Enid had noticed my depression but hadn’t said anything on Thursday evening when I arrived. I could see it in her eyes and in the hug that seemed to go on forever. Enid knew that I would tell her when I could find the words. However, with the week-end almost over and facing another two weeks without me, she couldn’t wait anymore. It was too hard living on the sidelines watching the only man she have ever loved, descend into depression.
“Hugh, you know that things always seem to get worse. You’ve always told your clients that when they began to confront their demons in counselling,” Enid offered. “I think you forget, already, just how bad it was before you left for analysis in the city. The kids saw it, I saw it. Now what we see is a ray of hope that you going to come back to us, healed. We see it and feel it, Hugh. Now you just have to let it happen. Stop fighting it.”
Without realising it, Enid had hit the nail on the head. I was fighting it, I was getting in the way.
“That’s what I love about you, Babe. You know me better than I know myself and aren’t afraid to tell me what you see, what you know, what your intuition tells you.” I confessed. “I am resisting and don’t know why. I do all that Wiatt is asking; well, almost all.”
“What do you mean? ‘Almost all?” Enid asked.
“Wiatt is beginning to ask about my mother. It feels as if he hoping that there is something hidden there that might be relevant to the work I need to do.”
“Maybe he is right.”
“Enid, you know my mother.” I protested thinking that what enough. I wasn’t ready for her response.
“No, Hugh, I don’t know your mother. I know you love her, but I don’t really know her. There is an invisible shield around her that doesn’t let me in. She’s just there in the background. Do you really know her, Hugh?”
“Of course I know her,” I replied defensively. “She’s my mother for Christ sake.”
“I wonder?” Enid softly offered as a question, “But, you’re probably right.”
And with that, the conversation stopped and we continued our walk in silence. And in that silence, squirming with guilt for having brushed off Enid’s honest attempt to help, I remembered the words from a book I had read following Wednesday’s session with Wiatt in which the topic of my mother came up, a book called the Inner Child in Dreams, by Kathrin Asper:
Another aspect of the negative mother complex brings the experience of having no solid ground in oneself . . . cannot develop trust in himself and the world . . . leads to untimely maturity . . . the impression of being understanding, reasonable, willing to adapt and ready to help . . . guilt feelings . . . an endangered child . . .
“Maybe you’re right, Enid.” I said in the silence. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know my mother as much as I think I do.”