What'd I miss?

Quite a bit, it seems. The second half of the Trump fiasco — and a pandemic. And that's just on the widest-picture scale. Life has changed so much, everywhere, for everyone, since Saturday the 23rd of June, 2018 (the date of my last post), that it feels herculean to try and catch up. Which is part of the reason I've let so much time pass without writing here. Every time I thought of doing so, the sheer amount of information I felt I'd need to cover just... tired me out before typing a single word. 

(Disclaimer: I'm not sure I will be posting with any semblance of regularity, even now.)

A shame. I've missed writing here. I've missed many of the people I connected with in the blogosphere (is that still what it's called? I feel so out of it, haha.). Friendships forged through distance, without ever meeting, and yet so powerful, so close. Some of those people I have still on Facebook (I've also almost forgotten Twitter exists), but... it's not the same. The connection feels... well, different. So I'm looking forward to reconnecting with some of them, if they're still around. And if they still find something interesting in what Quiet Laughter will be.

Because things are going to change around here.

This is another — maybe a larger — part of the reason I've been 'away': those Trump diehards. Some of the people I interacted with on a regular basis back in 2018, and earlier, would've been not just delighted but honored to be at the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol — maybe they even were there. And that's not ok. Not on this blog. This blog is my space — mine — and I get to decide which voices (if any) besides mine are heard here. If you're one of those (or if you feel the need to speak out in favor of Trump, of antivaxxers, of QAnon, of lizard people, of...) please do that in your own space. Not here. And I'll tell you right now: any and all of those comments will be deleted. This is not a public forum. Not your cup of tea? Please unfollow / block / do whatever you feel you need to. For both our sakes.

My space.

(Aahhh, that felt good!)

About a year after I stopped writing here, I realized that I didn't actually miss blogging. And that kind of shocked me. I'd always felt I loved blogging; why didn't I miss it? Why did the thought of writing an update leave me so... well, indifferent? Back when I started blogging — 2011, if you can believe it — it held such joy for me. What happened to it? Where did it go?

I don't have the answers. Not all of them. But reclaiming this space as mine — where I don't compromise, where I can write if / when / what I want — feels like a good place to start if I'm going to find it again. Quiet Laughter began as a sort of journal... a writing journal, a life-in-Curaçao journal, an I-dreamt-this-last-night journal, a journal of milestones. That's what I want it to be again.

Coming soon (ish): an update on this new crazy hobby that's been eating up all my time since 2019 — and the business that's sprung up, kind of like a weed after a surprise rainshower, from it.

30 Odd Questions #Blogfest (via @DebbieDoglady)

I'm joining Debbie's and Emily's 30 Odd Questions blog hop! Responses in italics.

1. What did you want to be when you were a kid? A writer. Yep. From the time when I was 8 and a short story I wrote won a school competition. But 'Nancy Drew' was a close second.
2. Which “Friends” character do you relate to the most? Why?  Pffff... I was never really a big fan of Friends. Maybe because I never could relate to any of them? Jennifer Aniston always seemed too much of an airhead, too ditzy, too flighty. Monica seemed cool, but then she had this underlying OCD thing that seemed a tad disturbed to me. And the blond girl with the guitar... she was always so much fun. But... she never made sense. Sorry.
3. Do you like your name? Why?  Ha — good question. Yes, I do like my name. For a large part of my life I didn't; too complicated, too unique, called too much attention to itself. Always had to be spelled, and even then there were mistakes... One of my school diplomas had to be redone because they misspelled my name. But, as time passed, I came to see my name as part, maybe more obvious than for most people, of what makes each of us individual and unique. And there's also the fact that my father invented it (so he claimed), and that made it extra special.
4. Are you messy or neat? Messy. VERY messy.
5. How tall are you? 1.73 m. According to this site, that's 5'8".
6. How tall were you when you were 10? About... 1.65 m? Whatever that is in feet?
7. What is your guilty pleasure? Just one? OK, then. Neil Gaiman novels. I just finished 'American Gods' for the third (or is it fourth?) time, and I'm a third of the way through Anansi boys — for the first time. 
8. What are you saving money for right now? Save—? Error 404: The requested URL was not found on this server.
9. How many Pringles can you eat at once? Not a Pringles fan.
10. Tea or coffee? Coffee. 
11. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Introvert. Though most people who know me would disagree. (I'm such an introvert that I keep my introvert nature secret :D)
12. What will be your Halloween costume this year? Okay... I outgrew Halloween costumes a long, long time ago. I'll dress up for a Pimps & Whores party, or any other themed thing, but... nah, not Halloween.
13. Sweet or salty? Salty, baby. All the way.
14. Favourite social media? Facebook. But I'm trying to wean myself from it.
15. Who is the last person you kissed? Kissed-kissed, as in lips and tongue and all? My partner, Cor. But if you mean just cheek-kiss-hello, then... someone at a friend's farewell get-together on Friday. 
16. What is your favourite breakfast? Something real 'Murican, like eggs over easy with bacon and sausage and hash browns and dollar pancakes with lots and lots of butter and syrup.
17. When is your birthday? 17 Feb 1973
18. When did you start your blog? June 2011
19. What is your opinion on the Kardashians? The who?
20. How would you describe your style? My... dressing style? My writing style? My hair style? Unclear. I'll go with dress. Probably 'beach bum' describes it best: shorts, flip flops, t-shirt. That's it. For all occasions.
21. What colour is your hair? Brown. With ever-multiplying, but very natural-looking, gray highlights :D
22. What colour socks are you wearing? See above for 'beach bum' style definition.
23. What is your dream job? Writing fiction.
24. Dogs or cats? Both. I've never understood this 'I'm a cat/dog person' differentiation. To me, cats and dogs are like two sides of the same coin; they balance each other out perfectly. At the moment, though, I only have dogs. (But, given my rescue proclivities, that could change any moment.)
25. What makes you weird? Pfffff... The list is probably endless. And, of course, it's all about what context you use for 'weird'. Here in Curaçao I'm weird at all sorts of levels: I'm a 'Latina', but I dress like a Dutchie; I speak perfect English but don't speak either Dutch or Papiamentu; I don't have children (and don't even like them)... In Mexico I'm weird because I chose a place no one has ever heard of to live. And because I speak Spanish funny after so long under the Venezuelan influence of Curaçao. And because I'm an only child (in Mexico? seriously weird). I'm weird everywhere because I left a great job, and the corresponding great salary, to write and rescue dogs. 
26. Celebrity crush? Wow. Leonard Cohen. T.S. Eliot. Roger Waters, right now (have you listened to his new album? BLOWN. AWAY.) More shallowly, the guy that played Superman in the new movie—but with whom I fell in love for his role as Charles Brandon in 'The Tudors'.
27. Opinion on cigarettes? YUM. Been a smoker since I was 13 (that's... 31 years). No, I wouldn't recommend taking up tobacco to anyone, given the health detriment, but... yeah, I love smoking.
28. Do you want/have children? How many? Nah. Not my thing.
29. Three favourite boy names? Michael. Santiago. Duncan.
30. Three favourite girl names? Kiana. Alexandra. Inés.

This was so much fun to answer, and I'm very much looking forward to reading everyone else's responses. If you enjoyed reading this and would like to join the fun, check out the guidelines here and sign up in the linky list below. Feel free to hop over to the other participants and get to know them... Some really entertaining and creative responses that are sure to make you chuckle—and several cool blogs and bloggers that you might be missing out on.

Thanks for reading!

I am shameless... (And I apologize.)

So much for my new year's resolution to not let more than two weeks go by without posting... It's going on 3 months since my last post here, and more than that on the dog blog; it's a wonder I even remember how to. Shame on me.

Much has happened to blog about, and plenty of times I began composing drafts of posts... I just never got around to finishing them before things changed. Again. I got a job, which upended my 'carefully balanced' schedule of dog walks and writing and (at least the intention of) blogging. I've since quit said job (yeah, short-lived experiment; one learns more from mistakes than from success). Two of the four puppies we took in as fosters back in December are still not adopted, which means they're still here, and as part of our effort to make them more adoptable I've begun taking them to training (well, one of them, since that's all I can afford time- and money-wise). I'm still not done with the dog book, but over the last two weeks I made some serious progress. I hope to have that done and delivered to the publisher for another round of edits before the month is out.

The dog book cover, as designed by Everytime Press

Oh, and we had the film festival here in Curaçao two weeks ago, April 5th to 9th. Forty-seven absolutely extraordinary films (well, except one). Impossible to see them all, obviously, but we did manage, with careful logistics planning that included Cor taking off two whole days from work (and one extra one after the festival, just to rest up), to see fifteen of them. Sixteen, if you count the preview film, Jackie, which screened one week before the festival began (and again during the festival, but seeing it beforehand allowed us to fit in one more film over that busy weekend).

Our film-fest booty, courtesy of Cor (who, unlike me, remembers to take photos of these things for posterity):
tickets grouped and stapled by day, from Wed Apr 5th through Sunday Apr 9th.

And I desperately want to share those fifteen (fine, sixteen) films we saw. They were thought-provoking and gorgeous: their narrative styles, the cinematography, the diversity of stories and points of view, their timeliness and value in view of current events. So, as of this week, I'll start posting a review every few days here. No, I won't make the mistake of committing to a certain day of the week or even a fixed (-ish) schedule; we all know how well that's worked out for me in the past. But I do want to share them, for you film-lovers out there, of course, but also for me, as a sort of journal record of the impact these films had on me.

So... See you soon!

2017 To-Do List

Lately I've been doing more visual "art" than writing... Not sure why. Maybe creativity not only comes in different shapes of expression but actually requires these different shapes to feed on, to renew itself, even to deepen itself. (Or maybe I'm just a five-star procrastinator and spin doctor.)

Here's one of the latest: the 2017 To-Do List. Hope you like it :)

The 2017 To-Do List, by Guilie Castillo
Created in Photoshop, January 2017

The Drawbacks of Paradise

I do love Curaçao. I love living here, I love its 'prickly kind of beauty', its contrasts, its contradictions. To me, this tiny island that so few people have heard of -- and of those who have, most relate it to a blue orangey-tasting liquor -- is paradise.

But paradise, any paradise, comes with drawbacks. And, depending on who you are and what you love, the drawbacks and their relevance to you may vary:

E-communications: A Reality Check

A friend asked me for some help with a project he's working on, a few suggestions for short stories that might be apt for sparking a child's imagination. I'm not an expert--not even remotely--on children's literature, and I told him that, but he wasn't interested in the traditional stories for kids, so I agreed to come up with some ideas. I compiled a list--dove into my favorites, reread a few (some as a refresher, some just for the sheer pleasure they bring), checked to see whether they were available online somewhere, etc.--and emailed it to him.

And waited.

I wasn't sure how helpful I'd be... Whether my suggestions were PG-13 appropriate, whether they were too long or too short, whether they'd serve for the purpose he intended them. So, yes, I was kind of anxious to hear what he thought. After two days, I went to my inbox and did a global search: could I have missed his response? Could it have gone into the Spam folder? Had I sent it to the right address?

Everything checked out fine. And no, there was no reply.

Before pulling out my violin and climbing up to the rooftop to bemoan my friend's ingratitude in hauntingly melancholic tones (no drama queen here; I'm the freakin' empress), in a moment of enlightened maturity I decided to ask. "Hey. Did you get my email?"

What email, came the response.

Turns out the only way this dude checks his inbox is if you tell him you sent him an email. So I resent it, told him I'd resent it, and he confirmed he'd received it. Yay.

But it got me thinking. Email is a central part of my life. Email, Facebook, Whatsapp, Skype, the blog, social media in general--they're how I stay in touch with the world. Not just with friends and family; my critique group, my publisher, my journalism contacts. Even my dushi Skypes me when he's at the office.

This friend of mine, except for Facebook, uses none of the above.

Perhaps it's my ex-pat status. Or the fact I live in a small island no one's heard of. A large part of the people I speak to every day are too far away for face-to-face contact. But--again, the dushi-with-Skype example above. And it's not just him; most of my island friends are either on Whatsapp or Facebook (or both), and that's what we use to communicate.

So tell me, then. Am I weird? How do you communicate with your world? Do e-communications play a large part in your life? Are they a good thing? Or are we, in Fahrenheit-451-dystopia style, trading real contact for cyber-versions of ourselves?

Not dead, just...

Well... working, I guess. Yes, there's that new job--which I love--*love*--to bits (more on that below). But also the end of the Pure Slush 2014 Year In Stories project. I finally delivered my December story earlier this month--story which, by the way, was due at the end of May. Yep. Two months late. And I wasn't even the last writer to wrap up the cycle.

It's official: Matt Potter, Pure Slush editor, is a saint.

It was hard, wrapping up. I didn't expect it to be that hard. Saying goodbye to characters is always sad; "The End" is a production achievement, sure, but it's also The End--of a creativity moment, of a period of our lives, of our shared story with these characters.

Perhaps if I wrote happy--happier--endings I'd have more feel-good afterwards. From a creative production standpoint I'm pleased when I achieve the perfect ending for a story. In terms of craft it gives me a boost of satisfaction to wrap things up, to bring the story to its crescendo, to let the notes crash and bang and make their statement, and then fade.

#atozchallenge: The YOWL of a writer

There was Whitman's YAWP. And Ginsberg's HOWL. I give you now my very own

writer's YOWL

Whitman sounded his "barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world" in joy, in celebration of himself and of the life he contained. Ginsberg's Howl is the euology of a generation--a lament and a call to arms all in one.

My yowl is neither. It's not meek, but its assertiveness is born of desperation rather than celebration or indignation.

Is this challenge over yet?

~ * ~

thankyouforvisitingcan'ttellyouhowgratefuliam....

It's that time of the year again...

Can you feel it? Excitement is making the blogosphere crackle. The A-to-Z April Blogging Challenge list opened last week. Are you in? Oh, I hope so. Because this year I'm a

minion!

with #TeamDamyanti!

Yes. I'm excited. I'm also very, very tired (not A2Z-related). But please come back in a few hours: a Great & Powerful secret will be revealed. No, seriously.

I Think; Therefore, I Yam: The Cold Truth

A Finnish scale of temperatures, with helpful comparisons--for all of us non-Finns--with the rest of Europe. The last line cracks me up every time.

• +15 --- Spanish wear caps, gloves, and winter coats; Finns are sunbathing.
• +10 --- French desperately try to get their central heating on; Finns plant flowers.
• + 5 --- Italian cars won't start; Finns drive convertibles.
•    0 --- Pure water freezes; water in River Vantaa thickens a bit.
• - 5 --- First people are found frozen in California; Finnish midsummer festival ends.
• -10 --- Scots turn the heat on in their houses; Finns start to wear long-sleeved shirts.
• -20 --- Swedes stay indoors; Finns are having last barbecue before winter.
• -30 --- Half of the Greek people have been frozen to death; Finns start to dry laundry indoors.
• -50 --- Polar bears evacuate North Pole; Finnish army starts its winter training.
• -70 --- Siberians are moving to Moscow; Finns are furious, because their Kiskenkorva liquor can't be stored outdoors anymore.
• -273 --- Absolute zero; Finns admit that it is quite cold outside.
• -300 --- Hell freezes over; Finland wins the World Cup.

Visit I Think; Therefore, I Yam: The Cold Truth for more hilarity, including a priceless list headed "How Cold Was It?" It was so cold that... Hitchhikers were holding out pictures of thumbs. Starbucks started selling coffee on a stick. Oh, there's more, much more. Brilliant humor from this marvelous woman who's trying to figure out if she's "a writer who blogs or a blogger who writes"--which, of course, we should *all* be doing.

The search (words) for Quiet Laughter

Merry Christmas!

It's an oldie, but it always makes me laugh. Happy holidays!

(From Jim's Joke Repository)

HOLIDAY FRUITCAKE RECIPE.

You'll need the following:1 cup of water 1 cup of sugar 4 large brown eggs 2 cups of dried fruit 1 teaspoon of salt 1 cup of brown sugar Lemon juice 1 cup of nuts 1 bottle of whiskey.   Sample the whiskey to check for quality.  Take a large bowl. Check the whiskey again. To be sure it's the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.  Make sure the whiskey is still okay. Cry another tup. Turn off the mixer. Beat two leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the tuner. If the fired druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.  Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares? Check the whiskey. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something. Whatever you can find.  Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window. Check the whiskey again and go to bed.

On Fear & Other Crutches

We hold on to our fears because they define us. They, we believe, keep us safe. Overcoming fear--of the dark, of scorpions, of speaking in public, of change, of no change--isn't easy, but we make it harder.

Because we hold on.

The Thing About Camouflage

It can save you, certainly. But--save you for what?

Original image here.

Mimesis is your thing, right? Pavement gray, autumn-leaf brown, technicolor lawn green, even the occasional metallic Honda or Toyota hue.

You're so good at this that even people who have you pointed out at them still can't see you. Takes them a minute to go, "Ah--there!"

Presumably your predators do not have you pointed out at them, which means you get to live long and prosper.

Because I'm not busy enough as it is...

I joined a Coursera course. Modern & Contemporary Poetry. Exactly--the same one I joined last year and ended up abandoning. Because I was too busy.

If you've been following this blog, specially the Accountability Reports herein, you're probably scratching your head. What is this woman doing? Doesn't she have enough on her plate with trying to finish editing that damn novel, with the Pure Slush 2014 project?

Yes. Yes, she does.

Ooops

It's Thursday. THURSDAY.

Do you see where this is going?

I forgot about the Monday Accountability Report. No wonder I get nothing done.

So--fast and easy. Last week's goals were, for Project #1, to finish editing 13 scenes (I finished 7), and for Project #2, to finish the final draft of the March story (finished the first draft).

Goals for this--ahem, almost-over--week:

STOP PROCRASTINATING

The Joys of Procrastination

We're leaving tomorrow for a visit to Holland. Have I packed? Have I even done laundry--or cleaned out the refrigerator, or checked I have enough deodorant / shampoo / face cleanser, or gotten a haircut, or any of the other gazillion things one's invariably swamped with before traveling?

No.

Instead, I'm writing this post. And sorting photos (don't you just looooove finding old pics?). I just came back from the beach with the six-pack.

The six-pack. Minus one.

The joys of procrastination.

Those poor bots, man

Last week, for the first time ever, a spam comment made its way past the Blogger filters. First time in eighteen months. Like everyone, I get email notifications when someone comments, so I deleted it immediately... But it started me thinking.

These bots that troll the blogosphere, leaving comments with links to such trust-inspiring sites as cheap cigarettes online UK, or speed up computer--I know they're bots, I know there's no actual person typing these comments over and over. Or maybe there is; I'm sadly (perhaps happily) un-versed in how spam works. Still, even if they're bots, I feel kind of sorry for them. Trolling, trolling, trolling... All that effort going to waste, because Blogger's spam filter catches them more often than not.

Makes me want to cry.

Post-NaNo Blues

On Friday I skidded past the NaNo winning line at 50,022 words and felt all good and self-satisfied with myself. I decided to take the weekend off from writing--from the computer as a whole, period. I deserved it, right? I worked hard all month, neglected all sorts of stuff to get this NaNo thing (and the editing thing) done.

And now, five days later, I can't seem to garner enough enthusiasm to get up from the couch, let alone write.

Say Thank You

Have you ever given a stranger's child a gift? Maybe a colleague invited you to their son's birthday party, or Bar Mitzvah, or Christmas at their place, or, you know, whatever. Say this child is young (so maybe Bar Mitzvah doesn't apply), younger than eight. You hand the child a gift-wrapped box or one of those feisty gift bags with tissue paper arranged just so, and the child's eyes go a little wider, their face a little seriouser. They take your offering somewhat solemnly.

And their mother says, "Say thank you, Robbie"--or Jenny, or Mindy, or whatever.

[At least that's the way it was when I was growing up. Nowadays parents seem oblivious to their kids' manners.]

Here's the lesson. It's not that the child isn't appreciative of your gift. He--or she--is dying to open it, to see what it is. Their heart is racing, adrenaline is flowing, endorphins are kicking in. They can't wait.

Mom, on the other hand, is all about social mores. "Say thank you."

So the kid does, kind of halfheartedly, or maybe a bit shyly if they're older. They'll feel a little embarrassed for the greed they feel, for the desire to get it over with and tear the damn thing open. And you'll nod, say they're very welcome and you hope they enjoy the toy--or book, or sweater, or whatever. You'll turn back to the mom, release the kid to the freedom of shredding paper and ribbons and plastic wrap and cardboard.

Aren't we all like that? Yeah, even the grown-ups? We resent the "say thank you", the obligation to pause in our enjoyment of gifts. Gifts like life. Like health, or family, or an exotic bird chirping on our windowsill, a tiny flower blooming among the weeds.

I don't think the child is wrong. That carpe diem of tearing gifts open, of getting excited over wrapping, over ribbons, is a wonderful thing. But I think Mom's lesson is pretty powerful. "Say thank you." Not because it's socially required, not because the gift-giver deserves the thanks, although they certainly do. I think it's important to say thank you because that pause of contemplation gives the gift depth.

In the hedonism of "a gift! a gift! a gift!", we forget to appreciate the moment. Moments pass so quickly. Saying thank you is a nod, however brief, to acknowledge it. Before it's gone.

Happy Thanksgiving, USA.