The Weekend ~ 9/20/13

DCT croquis FNE

Hello All!

As of late I have become so wrapped up in writing and photography I’ve been lax on creating croquis posts for my devoted fashion illustration followers. This is after all how this blog was born. And Every week Croquis Part II remains my #1 read blog post- being kicked off its top slot only once by Kristine Espinasse and her French Word-a-day.

Now I’ve made all sorts of promises for upcoming croquis posts but I’d like to hear what you want to learn. Are there particular poses you want to see? What tools do you need most for your design work? Tell me what I can do for you. Your requests will be answered!

Last weekend I discussed my fear of writing anything longer than 100 words. Well my friend wants me to join her and participate in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. The goal is writing a novel in the month of November, 50,000 words minimum.

Or 1,666.66 words per day or 555.55 words per hour if I carve out 3 hours a day and type 9.26 words per minute. I’ve broken down the numbers into various derivations in an attempt to quantify and control.  Is there an emoticon for steam coming out your ears, head spinning around and flying off your body? If I weren’t already feeling ill this would surely do it. I think I’d rather jump from a plane. No, not really, that’s a dramatization. But if I do decide to drink the koolaid I may have to take leave from the blog to do it. Because I can’t possible spread myself that thin and not break.

Another girlfriend invited me to join her on a trip to Iceland in December. 4 hours of sunlight, 36 degrees Fahrenheit and no guarantee of seeing the northern lights. Why can’t I seem to warm up to the idea? Perhaps we should just hang out in a meat locker, drink Brennivín, dance our asses off to stay warm and watch videos on the northern lights projected on the wall. Or I could just fly to Colorado to see her. Then we could jump back and forth between the hot tub and making snow angels. With shots of Brennivín in between, of course.

Make sure to tune in next week for an exciting Tuesday Talent interview. A fabulous poet I met on the writer’s cafe and completely adore. I’m so glad she agreed to participate.

Til’ Monday I hope you are elbows deep in paint or ink. And read the Blast from this blogs past.

 

Blast from This Blogs Past

 

The Weekend Reading List

 

Something Extra

Chasing Cars ~ Snow Patrol

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Blue Moonlight #fridayfictioneers – 9/20

(Written for Friday Fictioneers)the_second_hand_shop-1Copyright – John Nixon

I no longer needed a watch. Standing in the doorway every day at 3 o’clock he’d become my personal time piece. Never coming in he’d only linger a moment before passing by. For years I tried talking to him, smiled, but he always looked right past me. A memory lost to some faraway place.

“Cheryl I’m heading to the bank. Store’s yours.”

“Wait a minute he’s coming back.”

What was different about today? Clair de Lune playing from the victrola just brought in.

Approaching, he tenderly enticed “May I have this dance?”

“I’d be delighted.” I replied taking his hand.

Word Count :100

Seductive Disarray

est-brigitte-bardot-jeans

When did we lose touch with sensuality, intrigue? Everything these days seems to be an in your face rebellion. Have women forgotten the art of allure?

My friend, newly single, went clubbing this weekend. At 48, she wore her 16 year old daughter’s dress out for the evening. She takes care of herself, looks great, but just because you can wear it doesn’t mean you should. There is something to be said for age appropriate dressing. And another friend commented to our male companions as a parade of young girls swished by with juicy across their derrieres, “Feels like a promise, doesn’t it?”

Miley Cyrus’ video Wrecking Ball kicked off this diatribe. The video’s cinematography was stunning. But despite the imagery I was left deflated. Licking a sledgehammer? All sexual innuendo intended. Are you kidding me? There is a stronger underlying aggression inherent in that image, a disdain and violence. When did the need to assert ourselves as strong independent women devolve? Is this what we have come to?

I fear more fathers will resort to donning a pair of denim daisy dukes just to make the point. And that is no prettier then swinging buck-naked on a wrecking ball or young starlets sliding out of your limos pantie-less. Or the numerous ways young women reveal all that God gave them to the world today.

Now I am not saying we shouldn’t fully embrace our sexuality or the beauty of our naked figures. And hurrah to the women throughout history who have pioneered this thought in American culture fighting for equality, contraception, and freedom. That taught us it is okay to talk about vaginas. Even I marched through Boulder one night topless alongside my male buddies because the feminist in me screamed if a man can do it I should be able to also. But somewhere I do believe we’ve lost our sense of balance.

What happened to the aloofness that French women are famous for? Their Je ne sais Quoi giving off an aura that says they know something about sexuality and seduction we don’t. Brigid Bardot’s I just tumbled out of bed seductive disarray, an understated sensuality like an invitation.

Debra Olliver, Author of “What French Women Know: About Love, Sex, and Other Matters of the Heart and Mind.” writes of French women “Not only were these women a sensual and resilient counterpart to the one-size-fits-all beauty standard advocated around us — they weren’t cookie-cutter pretty, but they had that maddening French capacity to transform quirky peculiarities, even ugliness, into compelling sexiness.”

And in the true nature of a French woman Miley should tell me to Casse-toi; since French women don’t care what others think of them. Perhaps their most beautiful trait of all is their I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude.

I don’t know about you but I want to be comfortable in what I wear. I want to grab hold of my je ne sais quoi and let it linger in the room like my perfume. Not put it on display for every Tom, Dick and Harry. I want to leave something for the imagination, a subtle invitation to my significant other of everything that lays underneath, a present waiting unwrapping.

Image: Here