Work In Progress

There Are Scars

2011-07-19T13:07:00.000-04:00

There are scars on her hands

where the nails dug into the flesh-

-clenched fists

and the taste of blood

in her mouth

from teeth piercing the tongue.

She tries to remain civil,

even as the words burn the back

of her throat.

Words like knives,

and she can't help imagining

cutting her opponent to ribbons.

But the sacrifice won't kill the infection,

and the legion may spring

into action.

Instead, she lies in wait

for the empire to crumble on its own.

I was there

2011-06-22T16:30:00.002-04:00

I was there when the uniforms came.

Armed, they stormed in.

No time for questions,

no time to discuss.

Only time to move.

They tried to fight back,

but words, documents, hands

are useless.

They chose their battle.

They will not back down,

until there is nothing left

to hold onto anymore.

Two for Today

2011-06-21T14:44:00.000-04:00

Since I missed posting yesterday, two in one today:

He runs when it gets serious,

when good may finally triumph.

If he thinks no one is looking,

he begins to self-destruct.

Leaves pieces of himself

to scatter in the wind.

Destroys what is real

in favor of a plastic dream

of the ones who never learned

to love.

This one is definitely going to be longer, I just haven't quite pieced together the rest of the story:

A corset-wearing menace,

weaving a path of chaos

and natural disasters.

Fools with charm

and promises that are broken

before the words escape her mouth.

She'll tell you she loves you,

and swear that she needs you

as the wrecking ball hits

and you are nothing

but dust on her shoes.

Cast Out of the Garden

2011-06-17T09:51:00.000-04:00

There are locks on the doors

because they tell us

it's unsafe inside.

We're better off in the streets,

where the rapists roam free,

but they'll try to keep us safe

for three days.

Nothing happens on a weeknight anyway.

The artists-musicians-dreamers

are silenced,

kicked to the curb.

Who needs free expression anyway?

They let hero worship

go to their heads.

Forgot what it means

to protect,

to honor life.

Forgot that they could have

ended up on the streets with us

when the city crumbled to the ground.

Raspberries

2011-06-16T16:24:00.000-04:00

There were raspberries

the day I found out.

One tumbled out of my hand,

leaving a pale red stain

where it landed.

Evidence of the heartbreak.

Over time,

wounds healed

and scars faded.

But the body never forgets betrayal,

and still rejects the taste of raspberries.

Untitled

2011-06-15T15:21:00.000-04:00

If I bite my tongue,

close my eyes,

you won't see

how the words

cut me to ribbons

and open the wounds

that never healed.

You'll never know

of the sleepless nights

plotting escape.

The way flesh burns

at the touch

of countless others.

The way the heart breaks

with each rejection.

You've forgotten already

how difficult your own journey was--

and remain unaware

that this one is just beginning.

Poem

2011-06-14T14:59:00.000-04:00

Dishes left in the sink

a reminder of our failings.

Faint mark on the hand

from a fight that quickly turned violent.

We wear our secrets out in the open,

hoping to find our companions, a savior, a meaning for the madness.

Still dress it up to avoid

the unpleasantness of scars.

What is real is terrifying,

we create a new story in order to survive.

Yet still find beauty,

in the imperfections, the sickness, the disaster.

If You're Singing an ABBA Song by the End, My Job Is Done Here

2011-06-13T12:13:00.000-04:00

I just want someone to take a chance on me.

I arrived in New York almost one year ago. I debated for a long time. I love New York. Always have and always will--this is the place I call home. But, I was terrified that I was diving head first into disaster.

I left a job that I held for almost six years in hopes of making it here. That hasn't exactly happened. I enjoyed my first month here--exploring and rediscovering this wondrous place. I reveled in the small things: buskers, art, food. I went to shows. I smiled. I relaxed. The pain that had gripped my chest for two years began to fade.

Unfortunately, reality set in and I had to resume the job search. I was accustomed to heartbreak and to rejection, so I faced nothing new here. However, by December, I was working with a band merchandise company. What started as a small volunteer opportunity quickly turned into a full-time gig. For four months, I folded, counted, sorted, packed, organized, and scheduled merchandise fulfillment. In spite of a desire to work in publishing, I loved this gig.

All good things must come to an end, and merch fulfillment was no different. I was thrust back into the daily grind of job hunting and cover letter writing. Two months later--I'm still doing it.

Some applications are an endurance test. After uploading a resume and cover letter--there is the online form which asks for every bit of information (and then some) that is on the resume. Some are simple templates that ask for nothing more than a resume and the basic information (not even a cover letter--which is a blessing and a curse). One company uses a terrible template that doesn't allow old uploads to be deleted. Nor does it allow a new account to be created with an email address that has been used on their site before. Some sites send an auto-reply to applications. Some send rejections once the job has been filled. Most, however, send nothing at all. I spend many days waiting for a phone call or email that I know will never come.

As desperation and frustration set in, I began to look for bookstore jobs. I could get no more than halfway through an ad without sobbing. I swore I wouldn't go back to that. I don't want to get trapped again. I don't want to be miserable again.

But, through this I realized that I have no real "plan b." I've known since I learned how to write that this is what I want to do. I started writing poems as a child and never stopped. Before I even reached high school, I knew that I wanted to work in publishing (and, I'm quite sure that even then I singled out Random House as my dream company). These days, I probably devote an equal amount of my time to my passion for photography--and specifically concert/event photography--but I know that writing and publishing is my true love.

I guess this entry is my plea to the Universe. I'm trying, but I need your help. Since I can't really send a cover letter that says, "I'm smart. No really. Hire me," I'll say it here. I'm not applying for jobs that are out of my league--I'm applying for Editorial Assistant and Administrative Assistant jobs. No I don't have an internship in the business. But I have two degrees in English and about six years managing a bookstore. I know books. I love books. I'll work hard to bring them to life.

I just want someone to take a chance on me.

Another Vignette

2011-06-10T13:04:00.000-04:00

Untitled for now

There's a kind of magic in his eyes--a mischievous dance when he talks. He sits beside her, his arm casually grazes hers. An accident, for sure, but the touch electrifies, ignites a spark. She smiles shyly and tries to avert her gaze, but he's already set his sights on her. She knows she should disregard the advances, but she is powerless against the charms. The bedroom eyes. The voice that becomes a low growl when he leans in close. She is already burning out of control by the time she slips the ring into her bag and takes his hand. Without a word, she pulls him to his feet and they make their way to the crossroads.

Vignette

2011-06-09T09:14:00.000-04:00

Still untitled (possibly unfinished) piece.

I write about the girl I could never be, because I've forgotten how to be fearless.
I recount the affairs I've never had and never will. But the dream of passion, fantasy, and desire remains strong.
I remain a distant observer, as I am prone to repeated heartbreak.
In this realm, I've forgotten one.
In this realm, I've replaced another.
I'm no longer certain that this is fiction. It may be a better version of me.

All Future Entries Should Be Titled "Sorry"

2011-06-08T14:19:00.000-04:00

Hello little blog. Yes, I'm finally getting back to you after about a year away. In the year away, life has been painful/wonderful, frightening/exciting, and probably any other contradictory pair of words one can imagine. In other words, life frequently gets in the way of blogging.

I'm making no grand promises here, little blog. I may ignore you again. I may forget you for a while. But, I've been writing so much in this last year. A lot of it is that god-awful novel that's been following me around since I was 14. There's some poetry. And there are things that I can't quite classify yet. Vignettes, I suppose. I want to resurrect you, little blog, so I'll share more and thus write more.

It sounds so good on paper (screen), doesn't it?

I can't guarantee that everything is good. I can't even guarantee that everything is finished. But all stories have to start somewhere, right?

In Which The Author Apologizes (Again)

2010-05-13T18:22:00.000-04:00

Hello little blog. I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. My life basically revolves around job searches. It sucks up so much energy and ambition. But, I haven't completely ignored my passions. I had a few great photo opportunities in the last month.

Full set here.

I've got a few bits and pieces that I'll try to put up over the next few days. Thanks for sticking with me, readers.

Life Gets In The Way Sometimes

2010-04-26T19:06:00.002-04:00

Sorry for the severe lack of posts this month. April is a good month--but is often busy. So, life has gotten in the way for now. Hope to have some new updates soon.

Storming Pink II

2010-04-19T22:03:00.002-04:00

I couldn't decide which one I liked better, so here's another version:

Storming Pink II

Use storming pink

in a violent slash

across the lips.

Seal them

with waxy fury

in honor

of your true intentions.

Storming Pink I

2010-04-18T13:05:00.001-04:00

Sorry, a bit behind this month.

Storming Pink

Use storming pink.

A lesson,

or warning

for future

bus stop communications.

Never let them

see your true colors,

your true identity.

Always hide behind

a tempestuous hue.

Based on magnetic poetry found in a telephone booth near a bus stop.

Haiku II

2010-03-31T18:00:00.000-04:00

Fingers pluck strings of

a heart. Playing expertly,

not knowing a note.

Haiku

2010-03-31T17:48:00.002-04:00

Fragile girls caught in

the web of a dangerous

man. No way to leave.

Untitled Piece

2010-03-30T19:54:00.000-04:00

She frequently dreams of running these days. Plots her escape. Even tells the world of such plans, which typically go unnoticed. She's not a bad person, you understand. Just tired. Somewhere along the way, she lost herself. She was so different, so happy long ago. So much was effortless then. But now, with so much energy wasted on the smallest of things--she's often left empty.

She thought for sure that she had a solution, a course of action that would satisfy her. But things have changed once again and now she wonders if she can follow.

Would things be different if she stayed all those years ago? Or if she had left when she still had courage? And what will become of her in a few more years--and will there be enough left of her to care?

Evelyn Evelyn

2010-03-30T18:32:00.000-04:00

Today is the official release date for Evelyn Evelyn. It's so exciting to see a project I've been following for so long finally come to life.

I love music that breaks my heart, gets me on my feet, pushes me to sing along, and inspires me to create. This album is all of that. And then some.

But, what I love even more about this is the story itself. Throughout the album, we are introduced to the story of the Neville sisters (spoken word segments between the songs)--the alternately horrific and hopeful story of the conjoined twin sisters. On first listen, I found myself pausing to breathe and to digest the story. Details about their life that initially shocked me are, I realize, essential to understanding these girls. Painful to even imagine such an upbringing.

I don't want to give anything away. I want you to experience this yourself.

If you'd like to learn about the Neville sisters, check out evelynevelyn.bandcamp.com . From here, you can listen to the album in its entirety. If you enjoy the music, I encourage you to buy it (and, for the old folks like me who still enjoy physical copies--there is a link to their webstore with several beautiful packages).

Enjoy!

Some accomplishments/More dreams

2010-03-29T22:17:00.001-04:00

Managed to get a few pages out this evening. Not much, honestly, but it is something.

I'm actually dreading putting all of this together--I've got so many bits and pieces in various places/out of order.

Trying not to think about that right now. Trying to focus on what's happening and where everyone is going.

As an aside, last night's dreams: watching a giant spider (EW) climb up a set of blinds. I wasn't disgusted (as usual), just fascinated. It fell and turned into a pink rat. No, really. Bright, almost neon, pink.

In another dream, returned home (not here, but whatever it was--it was home) to find my roommate (?) had left the door open. I was terrified that the cat had escaped. Inside, I found numerous kittens (probably about 9 months old), all wearing tags with her name. There must have been 20. All hers. This is, of course, impossible.

Cats are often bad omens in dreams, but spiders and the color pink are usually good. Balance?

Blocks

2010-03-28T10:39:00.000-04:00

The writer's block is hitting hard lately. I have ideas, but can't quite put them to paper. I'm trying to read as much as possible in the meantime, in hopes that I will find some inspiration to get my ideas out. I lost my direction, my focus. I knew where the story was going, then hit a wall.

I will likely go to a show in a couple of weeks (financial situation be damned). Music/performance (and satisfying my need to take pictures) is usually enough to spark some creativity. Let's hope it works.

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'm going to try to piece together a few little things I've done and throw them on here over the next few days.

Dreams

2010-03-26T08:20:00.000-04:00

Lots of vivid dreams lately. Two nights ago, it was a high school reunion/wedding reception. Lots of familiar old faces. A teary reconciliation with a high school friend--then running full speed to greet another long lost friend (who has, at this point, not appeared on any social networking site).

Last night, a show--a major production. I was part of the show and also photographing it. I spent so much time adjusting the camera, desperately trying to capture scenes. Some of the photos were completely black. Others captured moments that looked unreal. It was something like Cabaret. Dancers and a devil and war. But the most striking part was constantly adjusting the dial on the camera.

From there, I moved on to cleaning and clearing out bookshelves. Behind the books, I found dust and cockroaches. I was fascinated by the cockroaches, watching them crawl and struggle and trying to piece together how they ended up behind the books.

I'm always fascinated by these dreams. I often wonder what my brain is trying to process or trying to tell me. No matter how strange, I know that there is some meaning to everything. I just hope I understand the lesson in time.

Still Waiting

2010-03-17T22:13:00.000-04:00

Still waiting.

Crazy, I know.

But deep down,

I hope that you'll rescue me.

I've forgotten how to live,

to love,

to smile.

Funny,

thought it was like

riding a bicycle.

Once you learn,

you never forget.

But my lips crack

at the slightest upturn.

I know you aren't

really there.

Just a dream.

A fantasy.

But you are the

only thread

connecting me to the world.

So still I wait,

until I can make you real.

In the Past

2010-03-11T19:40:00.000-05:00

Another short one tonight.

Crooked branches

overhang

the street she used to live on,

casting eerie shadows

across the road.

Ghastly spectres

of the life she left behind.

Dancing Girl

2010-03-10T20:10:00.000-05:00

Something short for tonight.

Mary Janes balanced on top

of his shoes,

gleefully turning

round and round.

Giving way to fights,

to rebellion.

Always a child

in the eyes

she refuses to meet.

Just a word or two

2010-02-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

Still fighting with the lyrics. But, thinking about them is helping me figure out how and why certain characters came together. Unfortunately, I'm nearing a wall again. I had a good streak going last week, but I'm slipping back into old patterns. I'm revisiting scenes again and getting stuck. I think, in a way, I'm avoiding the end because I don't want it to end. Hard to let go of people I've lived with for so long.

Sorry, struggling a bit with the posts this month. Time got away from me. Hope to feel a little more refreshed and inspired next month.

War Story

2010-02-28T20:18:00.000-05:00

War Story

[I count the] days remaining before closing my eyes.

They key is in the toy box, I said, but I didn’t believe the words.

It will take time…

Knocked myself out.

There was a might crash and screams of anger as the assaultees [kicked] up clouds of dust.

Hail, hail and welcome, brave Defender, a voice answered.

give in graciously

Then summon your troops.

You are not me and I am worried

answer the question or I will

Why is a good question.

I smiled and let the silence stretch before I spoke.

I swallowed a calm-and-collected pill

[The] effects of the calm-and-collected pill began to wear off.

didn’t really wake up until I broke one of the fruits open.

He placed a small recorder on the table, stepped back.

Our jailers are most generous in their desire that we be entertained

Yes, of course, she said, stepping back.

The artifact must be found.

What about the prisoner?

They all turned to look at a red box on the table.

I was sent to warn you.

This was all done with ruthless efficiency.

And the door opened below me.

Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring?

We push them headlong with our arms and feet.

Thus wander travelers in woods by night

What had happened on the island was accepted

War shall the country waste and change the state.

It was three o’clock in the morning and for an hour he trudged on

He was smiling widely and I let my smile mirror his.

His words were drowned out by hearty masculine cries of joy

Yes, one off to your left.

Usually, by the time I had exited the launch, he would be calling me.

Spontaneous creation would you believe!

I’ve done nothing wrong.

Impossible, he growled in his usually friendly fashion.

Just a bit more.

Great idea.

I had scribbled the note by the time he came back, slipped it to him

when I took the glass. He opened it behind the pitcher, read it.

He moved aside and pointed at the very deadly-looking collection of

mobile military hardware behind him. All guns, clubs, wheels, knives

and metal teeth. Teeth for tearing out throats?

He looked startled at my tone, put it back on the table and turned it

Drink this, all of it. Ill hold the gun.

and the darkness became even more intense.

10/01/08

Poem based on spam—only a few words added for clarity.

Starter Lyrics

2010-02-27T19:44:00.000-05:00

Beginning drafts/ideas for this little song I mentioned in the last post:

Teenage dreams of hearts and rainbows

and having that magical first kiss

uncomfortable, so awkward, awkward

never imagined a life like this.

Look out girls,

the wolves are coming,

hide your hearts

they're hungry and cunning.

I then talked myself out of this rhyme scheme and tried it another way:

Teenage dreams of rainbows and hearts

touching was such and uncomfortable part.

Imagining the magical first kiss,

never dreamed of a life like this.

The wolves are coming

Got to keep running

Hide the jewels

they want from you.

So, I'm not sold on either version...but, still working with this. I came up with one other section (bridge, perhaps):

You left your heart in his hands

said, "take this for me,

and keep it safe.

I don't need it where I'm going."

Run, boy,

the wolves are coming.

Don't let them find you.

Yeah, back to the notebook. Needs work. :)

This Day Could Change Your Life

2010-02-25T18:24:00.000-05:00

A short post about many things, mostly unrelated, but there is a bit of a connecting thread.

I am still waiting to find out about the status of a job I so desperately want (NEED). It is beyond frustrating to just sit back and wait. I've done this many times before. I should be used to it. But this time, it feels like my entire life is on the line here. In some ways, I think it is.

Poetry has taken a bit of a backseat for a time, as I am back in novel mode. I had one of those "aha!" moments which opened up an entire midsection that was, up until now, blank. I knew what happened (mostly), but didn't quite know how to get there. Still a lot to flesh out, but I'm getting the basics down. Unfortunately, part of what I want to write involves some (rather disgusting) research.

However, in spite of what I just said, I'm trying to write a song (which is, let's be honest, basically a poem). It's not something I'm going to actually play (zero music writing ability), but the song is part of the story. This is much, much harder than I imagined. For someone who listens to so much music, you would think I could figure out the basic structure of a song. Unfortunately, I tend to like musicians who bend/break the rules. This is not a bad thing, but it does make figuring out the structure more of a challenge. If I can get some basic lyrics together, I'll probably post it.

I had a wonderful conversation today with a very kind gentleman who came into the bookstore. He wasn't really in the mood to read, but came in to browse for a few minutes, just in case something jumped out at him. We made a little small talk about books before he explained that he was repairing a violin, so that's where his focus was today. As he was leaving, I wished him luck with the repairs (I imagine this is no small task--a violin is, like any instrument, a work of art). He asked if I played an instrument. I shook my head and said, "No, I wish I did."

"Then do it. Life's too short. Do it now. Don't spend the rest of your life with regret, wishing you had done it."

He then asked what I would play if I were to pick up an instrument. Piano, of course. He told me to go get a keyboard; he's found them at flea markets for $25. No need for a Steinway. There are books/videos in the library that will show you the basics. He did the same, then actually figured out a few of the chords on the piano. He went on to explain that he played stringed instruments: banjo, mandolin, etc. I smiled and said that my second choice would be the ukulele. He lit up and said I could get a nice one for about $75, then proceeded to give me a very basic music lesson on paper. With that, he said, I could play any song in the world.

As he walked out of the store, he gave me his card, and offered to give me a string lesson (we got a bit sidetracked and started talking about mandolins, but I think the offer stands for anything) some evening at the senior center. "This day could change your life," he said.

And it may.

So, dear readers (all 2 of you), I ask. Do I go to Downtown Sounds this week and buy myself a ukulele (I may not need a Steinway, but there's that little voice in me that says I want a full 88 keys)? I'm not sure I'd take him up on the lesson, but maybe it's time to try something new (and, with summer coming--busking is always a possibility, and talent is usually optional there).

Or, am I missing the real lesson here? Was he just there to remind me that it's time to go for what I want (job/location/writing/etc.)?

Dear stars, I know you are aligning for everything to happen. Can you align just a little bit faster, though? Thanks. :)

Just an opener so far.

2010-02-19T19:06:00.000-05:00

Two today (in part because I didn't want that last poem greeting people who wandered over to the blog!).

This is definitely unfinished...but I'm excited to see where this goes.

She's the one in his rearview,

hands clasping the broken chain,

palms pressed to chest.

Delicate ruffles ripple in the wind.

Hair rolls, cascades, like wheat fields.

NSFW Cut-up

2010-02-19T18:56:00.000-05:00

So, I'm posting this on a Friday night since this probably isn't ideal work reading...

I love cut-ups. Sure they are a lot of work, but I love the end result. I like the actual physical construction involved in these poems. I didn't do a lot of construction with this draft. I just recombined the texts and selected the lines I liked--just as they fell.

I used pages from Cunt by Inga Muscio and Cunt-Ups by Dodie Bellamy. Hence the NSFW language...

All ladies have the power to for at least fifteen minutes.

Not necessarily to open you over and over

On a less metaphorical level, droopy

My cock covered the women’s sexuality,

Whores who offered us lessons sleeping,

Whores were in business

My cock is about parting.

Since a chain is only through all the cornfields in the nonexistent rights and freedoms surrounding,

my cunt is the power of cunts

I was taken to jail for women in our society

my hands move across your ladies

walked until my cock will be yours,

Is it a mere coincidence that all the combinations of all physically associated with cunts

Get out.

I would clench my cunt, and transcend the dynamics

I was going insane with ignorance

My nipples are large, but value judgment that reinforces my nipples are sour

Many women allow our THUMP.

Over and over.

clit’s throbbing like a fire alarm cash in on the goldmine

went to Florida for a year, returned with the objective

I thought I was Jesus and our cuntlovin’ selves.

My clit will turn all nothing but good

My clit’s stirring even temples in honor of walls of my rented trailer

my night to learn to breath from in how to love and be loved.

This was ten years ago.

I’m normal size, mirror,

before the Red Sea ever thought like a large intestine.

My cock labor unions,

My cunt is singing unemployment insurance

tottering on the tip of your finger.

more than any other group of tongues and they’re all over you,

the constitution of the chain we head in a small red circle.

my mouth will be yours,

I counted women so specifically,

the casualties on every battlefield.

have no rights in this culture?

my shirt ripped to shreds because violence, destruction and frustration.

My mouth is crazy cuntfearing society.

they need your THUMP

our society is brimming with

nothing

So Long

2010-02-14T10:35:00.000-05:00

Fragile figure.

Created an

impossible image.

Hard to live up to,

and harder to escape.

Terrified of the

monsters under the bed

and the monsters

in the closet.

Left a trail of hearts

scattered about

like a child's

tinker toys.

Took hostages in order

to hide,

to cover.

Not about malice,

just survival.

Shattered

2010-02-10T08:40:00.000-05:00

Still playing with this one. The first line was haunting me, so I ran with it. I'm not sure about it just yet.

Laugh lines

shatter like glass

across blacktop.

Memories, dreams, thoughts

scatter like leaves

across the landscape.

Wrapped up in the

moment, the excitement

of it all.

No time to look.

No time to stop.

Seconds pass

before time stays still,

and she along with it.

Through Her Eyes

2010-02-07T14:56:00.000-05:00

I tend to write in the first person. I love putting myself into the mindset of these "characters." For whatever reason, it seems easier to see through their eyes versus writing about them.

I use my scars

as an excuse

for my bad behavior.

Try to tell myself

that he never

loved me anyway.

That I'd treat you

better than she did.

So easy to justify

our desires.

To tell ourselves lies

in order to live.

And to love.

Trying to Embrace Change

2010-02-01T20:09:00.001-05:00

I'm at a point in my life where there are probably some big changes on the horizon--changes that are both exciting and terrifying. Based on these signs, it looks like I may end up back in New York City. The push was for Boston, but somehow the universe knew otherwise.

Almost one month ago, my husband lost his job. Deep down, I knew it was coming. I can't tell you exactly how I knew, just that I knew something major was going to happen. For three days prior, I had a massive headache. Nothing I could do would relieve the pain--I would go to bed in pain and wake up in pain. I could function (barely), but I was miserable. Then, suddenly, on a Tuesday afternoon, it stopped. The headache went away at the exact time he was let go. Sure, it is probably nothing more than freaky coincidence, but I still believe that I sensed what was about to happen.

We cried. We panicked. We created multiple budgets and sorted out what we needed to do to survive. But almost as quickly as the fear set in, a calm came over me. I made peace with this situation almost immediately. Panic wouldn't change it. And I wouldn't let it change me.

I still believe that this is my year. This is the year that I get out and get what I want. This setback is actually an opportunity to get closer to where I want to be and what I want to be doing. I thought for sure that would be in Boston. However, as we searched for jobs, we found many, many more in New York. And that prompted me to look for jobs as well.

New York captured my heart long ago. Growing up in a very small town in Maine, I long for so much more. I briefly visited New York when I was a teenager and I was hooked. I spent my freshman year of college there. I may have been poor and underage, but I loved the city. I always had fun, even finding joy in just wandering (some days well over 100 blocks, just because I could). In part because of finances, and in part because of a boy, I returned home. It remains one of my greatest regrets of my life.

To be fair, there are plenty of great experiences I wouldn't have had and plenty of people I wouldn't have met had I stayed. So, I can't feel too sorry for myself here. However, I always secretly longed to return. But circumstances were never quite right and I was never in a position where I could just go.

But now it seems, fate my be deciding for me. And I have to admit, this is a little frightening. I have to wonder if I have romanticized New York. Is this fondness based more on regret and longing than on reality? I've all but forgotten coming home with my hands and face blackened by smog. Or those occasional moments of panic when I was out by myself late at night (though, admittedly, I often felt safer in New York than my own hometown late at night). Or practically starving because everything was so expensive. Am I just fooling myself into thinking that New York will magically solve everything and everything will be different and better?

It will be different. If New York does come through, it will be for work. I'll finally be doing something I love (or close to it) in a city I love. I will (eventually) be able to enjoy all that it has to offer. I'm ready. I'm ready for the change and I'm ready for the challenges. Open your arms to me, New York. Let me in and let me love you again. I'm ready to make up for past mistakes and regrets. I'm ready for you.

A Scene, A Moment

2010-01-30T10:11:00.000-05:00

I was doing a little daydreaming/brainstorming the other day, trying to sort out story ideas or scenes. I started this little piece. I'm not sure if it is finished or just setup. I'm torn between fleshing it out a bit more (while still keeping it very short) and incorporating it into something. But, here is the rather rough first draft.

On another note, I'm proud to say that I've made it through the first month of the new year and met my ten post goal. Hopefully I will be able to keep this up throughout the rest of the year!

We're a series of stolen moments. Lingering glances across the train. I try not to stare, but grin sheepishly and blush when you catch me. I turn away, both embarrassed and exhilarated. I feel foolish, yet I'm so drawn to you. I glance back and notice you looking, a smile slowly spreading across your lips. I try not to think about the way they would taste, or the way your breath would feel on my neck as you whisper your desires. I imagine running my fingers through your hair while I pretend to search for something in my bag. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but it seems you're thinking the same way. Shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Looking without looking directly at me. Smiling softly. Maybe you just delight in making me nervous. But I can see we're carrying on in the same way, too shy and too stubborn to act, pretending we're not part of this dance. I long to leap across the aisle, to press my body against yours. Before I have the chance to act, our train stops. I reach out to let my fingers graze your skin, but only touch the air between us as you depart. I look up as the train pulls away from the station, my hand still suspended midair. I see you standing on the platform, smiling as your eyes finally meet mine.

Untitled

2010-01-28T17:21:00.000-05:00

Weights press

against my throat.

Menacing controllers

of breath and speech

grow stronger

every time you are near.

Never set out to do

this.

Never planned

to make the choices

he did

and he did

and you...

Scratch at my eyes

leaving welts across

my skin,

hoping that my

pain will appease you.

No way to change,

to apologize.

Found Poetry

2010-01-27T08:49:00.000-05:00

I wish I could take credit for this.

I found this on the ground just outside the bookstore. I'm quite sure I know who dropped it, too. She was very nice. A little odd, but nice. Spelling and line breaks are intact:

She delites in sending

memos for every time

I sneeze.

I may have to play with this one. It really is spectacular.

Little One

2010-01-21T20:12:00.000-05:00

Quick bits for the evening.

Alluring and alarming.
Long to fade
into the landscape.
I can make no offering
to your altar.
Yet you still pursue,
pierce.

Remembering
the childhood days I'd hide
in the folds
of my mother's skirt, red-faced
and tear-stained.

Layers peeled.
Walls crumbling at our feet.
Here before you,
naked, trembling, exposed.
Nowhere to run.

Accidental Haiku

2010-01-20T19:22:00.000-05:00

Another night of interesting dreams. I had some great lines that I lost once I finally had a chance to write. D'oh! But this came to me and stuck around:

To dream of blood
is to dream of urgency.
Preventable mistakes.

If you format as a haiku:

To dream of blood is

to dream of urgency. Pre-

ventable mistakes.

I'm not sure if this is the beginning of something or if this is it. Either way, it reminded me that I need to keep paper by the bed.

Also, if someone can work on waterproof paper, that would be great. I come up with a lot of ideas in the shower (which is wonderful, until I realize that I've been thinking and not shampooing). So, I can't promise you riches if you come up with this, but you'll have my eternal gratitude. :)

Art Haiku

2010-01-19T19:55:00.002-05:00

Non-winning Post War Trade haiku entry:

To create is to
explore your boundaries, break
them, reach nirvana.

Small pieces

2010-01-18T08:36:00.000-05:00

No title. Not sure this is anything yet.

Gone.
No longer able
to abide
to withstand.
Ensnared by charms
long since worn off,
forgotten.

Wrapped in fantasy,
in dreamland.
Maintaining a delicate
balance between sanity
and hope.

Not about love.
Or lust.
Just life.
Learning to live again.
Somehow.
Never believed in this.

Dreams, Part 2

2010-01-15T07:24:00.000-05:00

I went back to yesterday's poem and a few lines came to me. It still feels unfinished. I think the stanzas are out of order, but I haven't quite figured out how to piece everything together.

Here's the next draft:

I dream of you
reaching out across
a landscape of pictures
of words
never uttered.
Destiny.
Secret.

Blood pearls
cascading.
I can feel myself
falling under the weight
of longing.

Comfort me with a

whisper, a

sigh.

We're old souls, you and I,

kindred.

This is a promise I

can't keep

while I'm breaking.

Try to disconnect,

but your eyes

always find mine.

Uncharted territory.

I'm frightened.

Reach out and

I'm alone.

Fall out

when things

fall apart.

It's in my blood

no use fighting.

Dreams

2010-01-14T08:55:00.000-05:00

Lately, my dreams have had some powerful (and confusing) imagery. Trying to get bits and pieces onto paper. Rough and unfinished, but here's a little bit:

I dream of you
reaching out across
a landscape of pictures
of words
never uttered.
Destiny.
Secret.

Blood pearls
cascading.
I can feel myself
falling under the weight
of longing.

I Didn't Forget, I Swear!

2010-01-12T08:19:00.000-05:00

(cue Conway Twitty voice)

Hello, blog. Nice to see you. It's been a long time, you're just as lovely as you used to be...

*ahem* Sorry about that.

So, I don't know if it is the power of suggestion, or positive thinking, or the fact that I published my intent, but I've been writing like mad. Thus preventing any posts here. (By the way, a blog post counts as a piece of writing--just sayin'.)

I've hit 130 pages. It's a huge accomplishment for me. This novel never made it past about page 70. But I've finally found a direction. I'm writing things that I didn't expect. I always had a very rough idea about the plot, but on three separate occasions I've written a scene that surprised me. I'm excited to sit down and write, because now I'm honestly not sure what is going to happen. It's liberating, in a way. I don't pull out the paper with expectations, I just write what I know and see where that takes me.

Of course, the frustrating part of all of this is that I have nearly 130 pages of dialogue. Maybe it is a screenplay after all? But, I know that at some point I have to go back and add some actual description--perhaps sacrifice some dialogue. I'm trying not to think about that too much--I'm afraid I'll stop writing new scenes.

Don't get me wrong, I still think it's going to turn out somewhat like a Jackie Collins novel. And yes, I am okay with this. I'm having fun with it.

Anyway, dear blog, I have missed you. I'll try to visit you more often--to fill you up with words so you don't fade away.

New Year/New Plans

2009-12-30T07:57:00.000-05:00

That time of year is now upon us--the time of resolutions, goals, and promises. I'm terrible about keeping my resolutions (which are often related to health and fitness, and how many people actually keep those?). But, I still hold out hope that THIS year will be different. So, I'm hoping that by putting some of my writing goals out there, I'll be a little better about keeping them. Some may be out of reach, but, you've got to have a few big goals and resolutions, right?

1. Post 10 blogs per month. No set schedule, no limitations--just ten pieces of writing (good or bad).

2. ~~Finish the Great American Novel.~~

2a. ~~Finish the novel.~~

2b. Finish a draft of the mess of a novel.

This is a difficult one for me. I'm stumbling over bits and pieces of it and having a hard time finding my way to the end. But, I'm going to try to finish it in some way or another (so I can spend another 15+ years revising). I'm well aware that I may not keep this goal, but I do want to make every effort to do so.

3. Read as much as possible. I have stacks of books waiting for me, and I need to get through them! To paraphrase Stephen King, "If you don't have time to read, you don't have time to write."

4. Listen to as much music as possible. Music helps me write, helps me think, and just brings me so much joy. I live in a city with three music venues--so I'd like to take in as many live shows as I can.

5. Polish and submit poems to publications. I used to spend entire summers writing and sending out poems, and I've neglected that over the last few years. Hard to be a working writer if you aren't publishing.

So, here's hoping that by putting these resolutions and goals out there, I'll keep them! And to everyone else making resolutions on this day--best of luck to you!

Upcoming Plans

2009-12-01T08:17:00.000-05:00

Since I survived a month of a poem a day, I'm feeling a little adventurous. I still have a handful of entries to post related to other projects, but I'm considering a new direction for the new year. I definitely do not write as much or as often as I would like, and I'm hoping I can use this blog to change that.

I'm not entirely sure how this will work, but I'm going to continue to write and post poetry (or other creative bits). My initial thought was to keep up with a poem a day, but I suspect that may be a little too overwhelming. However, I don't necessarily want to open it up to "write something" every day, as I doubt that will be useful or productive. I don't mind if I end up posting rough pieces (see entire month of November), but I don't want to post every day for the sake of posting. So, another idea I'm toying with is ten per month (as it will be 2010). I hope that will allow me to work at a more leisurely pace, and will allow me to explore other writing projects as well. I'm leaning toward this idea, but I'm also considering other options.

So, I have a little time to think and to play around with ideas. I may not post too frequently this month, but stay tuned--I will be posting regularly in the new year!

11/30/09

2009-11-30T18:07:00.000-05:00

11/30/09

Out of the

Longing, hungry, always

desire. I will follow

Weary of war

Glass and four thousand pounds

tick backwards

Essence of what it would say before I'd

Loved him and could not stand him

walks across my chest

a losing battle. No sense

Wish on stars

Images flickering

the scars of war

About 1 length of experiment of month there is an enthusiasm and a zeal which are creative.

clatter to the ground

Fragile

Sparkle like a diamond

media frenzy

call my mother

Tiny terror moving stealthily

Broken down and forgotten

Stripped of everything

Like a doll playing

No hint of a glimmer

Than I could

of will and dedication

flying off into the night

hand, nervously, and eyes

you do not see me

(Cut-up/Mash-up of lines from every poem this month).

That's the end folks!

Catching Up Part Two

2009-11-29T20:22:00.000-05:00

Once again, life gets in the way. In this case, a nasty cold got in the way, so there are quite a few poems to post today!

11/21/09

Sparkle like a diamond

cutting through glass

ceilings and walls

surrounding you

like a cage

for an animal

held captive

for being

too ferocious

too fearless

and never knowing

any better.

11/22/09

Long forgotten by time

by those who were there.

Fragile

and strong.

Champion,

warrior,

mother.

Gone too soon.

11/23/09

Tiny terror moving stealthily

and swiftly toward a target.

Love and companionship

unlike another.

Ladylike grace

and charm.

11/24/09

She came to me in

a dream, offering my one

desire. I will follow.

11/25/09

Weary of war,

so much time has passed.

Nothing has changed

bet we have.

Older,

wiser,

lost.

Desperate to remember

what we fight for,

against,

with.

11/26/09

I could see them

running, hiding

and crying for help.

Broken down and forgotten.

I tried to help them,

but they were always

just beyond my

reach, my sight.

I screamed for them,

my children,

trapped in the world

of dreams.

11/27/09

You miss

fly

an astronaut

yours only

paranoia

family

custom

life

per

self

call my mother

no hands

you love

my hero

life

take a path

my ad

goes

only

with you

house

sun

some

state I

can be

kin

til

days

boy

(Elimination exercise using earlier poem).

11/28/09

Fame is lost in trans-

-lation by television

media frenzy.

11/29/09

Wish on stars

pray for miracles

dream of a better tomorrow.

Swear that this time

will be

the last.

That's all for today, folks. Last day tomorrow, then I'll post a new plan/idea for the next few months!

11/20/09

2009-11-20T20:51:00.001-05:00

11/20/09

Like a doll playing

dress up, trying hard to be

someone I am not.

11/19/09

2009-11-19T18:46:00.002-05:00

11/19/09

Eat It

And

To my husband.

Perfectly wise, calm and compassionate.

Refuse

And

You DO?

Loved him and could not stand him.

On theology.

Vital to my survival to have a One Bedroom

Eat It

(Acrostic chance using Eat Pray Love)

11/18/09

2009-11-18T19:35:00.003-05:00

11/18/09

He rested his head

in the crook of her arm.

Sighed softly

and looked into her eyes.

Unblinking, unfocused.

No hint of a glimmer

or spark.

Cold, so cold.

And colorless.

Tried so hard

to reverse this.

To save enough breath

for both of them.

To bring her back.

But some say

she was gone

long ago.

11/17/09

2009-11-17T20:18:00.002-05:00

11/17/09

Some days it is just

a losing battle. No sense

in trying too hard.

11/16/09

2009-11-16T20:34:00.002-05:00

11/16/09

Images flickering

like scenes

from an old film.

Passing through rapidly,

jumbled nonsense.

Sound off sync.

Colors off.

No way to pause

or rewind.

Sit back and

enjoy the show

until the lights come up.

Catching Up

2009-11-15T19:29:00.000-05:00

Sometimes life gets in the way, so I've got three days to post all at once!

11/13/09

Anticipation.

That delicious agony

as we await

that which we desire.

The heart aches

in longing

watching the clock

tick backwards.

We have nothing

but time until

that moment is gone.

Dear one,

let us fill these hours

with love

and with dreams

and learn to live

in the moment

rather than for it.

11/14/09

Would you have missed me

if I were gone,

flying off into the night

like an astronaut?

I may be yours,

known only as Mrs. O,

but this paranoia runs

in the family.

I am not yet accustomed

to this life on the other side

of the ampersand.

I still see myself as a child,

calling out to my mother,

"look mummy, no hands!"

Yet here I am on this

oasis with you, my love,

my guitar hero.

My life with you has taken me

away from the dreams I

once thought written in stone:

Mandy goes to med school,

but now I dream only

of life with you

in our house

of the rising sun

somewhere in Leeds, United States,

or anywhere

I can be with you,

makin' whoopee

until the end of our days.

My love, my only

coin-operated boy.

(Based on song titles in a concert setlist)

11/15/09

I see your face in

every place I look but

you do not see me.

11/12/09

2009-11-12T18:46:00.002-05:00

11/12/09

The pieces shift,

slip,

clatter to the ground.

We try to put them

back,

but they never fit right

and never hold.

Constantly making

the same mistake,

hoping each time

is the last.

11/11/09

2009-11-11T20:58:00.000-05:00

11/11/09

She sleeps between layers

of discarded dreams and

the scars of war.

Her name all but forgotten.

Her face

hardly recognizable,

worry lines in place of laugh

lines

and a permanent frown where the smile danced

on her lips.

She can't find the light anymore.

Gone from her eyes.

Gone from the path she followed.

Gone.

11/10/09

2009-11-10T20:21:00.000-05:00

She pounds the keys

passionately,

forcefully.

Heart laid bare

for all to see.

Every emotion,

every thought,

every nerve exposed.

Stripped of everything

but a spotlight.

All that remains

at the end of the night

are the gashes,

the scars,

and the trail of blood.

11/9/09

2009-11-09T19:26:00.001-05:00

11/9/09

Writing is a test
of will and dedication.
Today I have none left.

11/8/09

2009-11-08T21:16:00.000-05:00

11/8/09

Here.

Where hand grazed

hand, nervously, and eyes

dared not linger.

Where in a rare moment

of boldness,

you pulled me closer.

Lips exploring lips,

allowing the truth

to pass between,

silently.

We tried to return,

recreate,

the first touch,

look,

blush.

To remember

how it felt

to love.

Wholly,

recklessly

love.

11/7/09

2009-11-07T09:27:00.000-05:00

11/7/09

A month long experiment in creativity and dedication.

One month long experiment which and devotes in the creativity.

One dedicate month long experimenting that and in creativity.

One devote experimentation length of month that and in the creativity.

One dedicates oneself, those to experimentation length of the month and in creativity.

One is dedicated, those in the length of experimentation of month and in the creativity.

One is dedicated, those in the length of experiment of the month and in the creativity.

As for one length of experiment of month and there is a creative enthusiasm and enthusiastic.

About 1 length of experiment of month there is an enthusiasm and a zeal which are creative.

Approximately 1 length of the experience of the month is an enthusiasm and a zeal there that are creativos.

Approximately 1 length of the experience of month enthusiasm and zeal there which creativos.

Approximately 1 length of the experience of the enthusiasm and that the there creative fervor of the month.

Babelfish translation experiment. I translated the first line into Chinese, then back to English. Using the new English sentence, I translated that to Dutch, then back to English. Here is the full list:

Chinese
Dutch
French
German
Greek
Italian
Japanese
Korean
Portuguese
Russian
Spanish

Some things really are lost in translation.

11/6/09

2009-11-06T07:46:00.000-05:00

11/6/09

Beloved one?

Really?

Eyes on my back, it felt

Again.

Know.

I wouldn't

News.

Glass and four thousand pounds

Doubt as to who was driving this car before,

Again.

Whisper of our lips moving in synchronization

News.

Acrostic poem using book title as key phrase. I went to the corresponding page number for each letter (a=1, z=26), copying from the first word that begins with that letter to the end of the line or the end of the sentence.

Last of the series. This was a fun experiment, and I think this one in particular is my favorite.

11/5/09

2009-11-05T16:06:00.000-05:00

11/5/09

Essence of what it would say before I'd

Charlie carry notes to Billy

Loyal, and Ben followed

I gave up on saving dinner and settled on serving it; I

Pulled out the letter, and a folded schedule of courses.

Stuffed manila envelope

Essence of what it would say before I'd

11/4/09

2009-11-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

11/4/09

Neither Edward nor Alice brought

Exposing his family's

When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door

Me any presents this year

Out of the

Neither Edward nor Alice brought

11/3/09

2009-11-03T19:58:00.000-05:00

11/3/09

Than I could
Was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour.
It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs.
Look at--I would
It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs.
Great.
He mumbled, embarrassed
Than I could

Acrostic poem using book title as key phrase. I went to the corresponding page number for each letter (a=1, z=26), copying from the first word that begins with that letter to the end of the line or the end of the sentence.

I thought it might boil Twilight down to its essence...and perhaps it did. I'll continue the series tomorrow.

11/2/09

2009-11-02T19:39:00.000-05:00

11/2/09

Two hours before the
alarm sounds, my purring clock
walks across my chest.

New Project

2009-11-01T19:37:00.000-05:00

Hello, poor little neglected blog. I've missed you. No, really! I still have a few entries to post, but I'm going to take a break from my regular posting. I have a project lined up for November.

I am participating in this. Now, I am not collecting pledges for this. This is not to say that it is not a worthy cause. But, I want to try it out just for the experience and the exercise. I considered finally trying NaNoWriMo, but changed my mind after seeing this post.

As she stated in the link, "...[T]hey don't have to be great poems. They just have to be poems." And these will likely live up to that much--poems. It's challenging to stare at a blank page and to know that you have to write SOMETHING. Thankfully, there are some great prompts available in that link (and I have several pages of prompts and experiments from college).

So, I'll be posting the poems here throughout November. Remember, not much time has gone into these. They may not be finished or polished, but they are something.

11/1/09

Days in solitude,

nights in fear.

Trying to forge a new path,

new dreams.

Longing, hungry, always

hoping for something better

than this.

Making peace with the

addictions, afflictions

that only numb and

never heal.

Music I Write By - "Ways to Love" (Jason Webley)

2009-10-21T18:42:00.000-04:00

Jason Webley is another artist I discovered through Amanda Palmer. After hearing a couple of songs, and after hearing the amazing act he and Amanda discovered (Evelyn Evelyn), I knew that this is someone I wanted to follow. As luck would have it, he happened to come through the area a few months ago. Though the show was free, they were asking for $5 donations. I happily paid (that’s about all of the cash I had on me anyway), but by the end of the night, I realized that the show was easily worth five times as much, and probably more. He is a natural storyteller (I like to think of him as an old man in a young man’s body—his delivery is perfect). His medley of gum jingles had me in tears. But the music was phenomenal. “Ways to Love” was a sing-along, in that the audience performed the parts of musical instruments (you can see a live version here). The song stuck with me for weeks. When I was finally able to pick up some of his cds, this song was on constant repeat.

Although I love the lyrics, it was the music itself that was so inspirational. Once again, it helped with a scene between the main characters. They reconcile and reconnect after the first goodbye. There is a driving passion (okay, maybe just lust). I pictured, and tried to recreate, another one of those somewhat cliché scenes of just intense passion and desire—stumbling over furniture and knocking items off tables and walls as they try to find their way to the bedroom, only to be interrupted and denied once again. Like I said, it just wouldn’t be fun if things were perfect right off the bat!

If you ever have an opportunity to see Jason Webley, go go go! Even if you are unfamiliar with his music, his live performances do not disappoint. And who knows, he might inspire you, too!

Getting from A to B (Via Points C, D, and E)

2009-10-18T20:56:00.000-04:00

One of the difficulties I’ve found, particularly with this story, is getting from point A to point B. It’s my story. I know, roughly, how it begins and how it ends. I just don’t necessarily know what happens in the middle.

One of the ways I’ve been able to combat this is by writing out every little detail. For example, let’s say some characters are having dinner. I’ll write out details about the meal itself, the location, the way they are dressed. Then I’ll move on to conversation. Sometimes I’ll rehash an earlier event. Other times, I’ll engage them in completely inane and useless conversations (like the weather or the meal). As I write out the useless information, I’m able to better get inside of the characters and understand their motives and methods. Soon, after writing a few lines, I get to the heart of the conversation and understand the real purpose of a scene. From there, I can work on the scene I had been trying to uncover and move forward with the story.

I don’t use the garbage conversations (who really wants to read several pages of talking about the weather and the like). But, I couldn’t get to this point without them.

What do you used to get unstuck and move from one point to the next? Do you find something valuable comes out of the exercise—even more valuable than the end result? And what do you do with all of those extra pieces that have no home (and likely never should or will)?

Music I Write By - "Give" (Tori Amos)

2009-10-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

Writing about a dangerous and destructive pairing proved more difficult than I imagined. My lead establishes a relationship with a dangerous man in order to exact revenge on the people who wronged her. When I first wrote about him all those years ago, he was charming and kind. I loved him. But I couldn’t make him work with the kind of story I would eventually create. He needed to be darker and more sinister. I finally ended up creating an abusive and controlling man. How could I make this work and make sense, given the strong woman I had created?

When I heard “Give” for the first time, I thought my beloved Pele/Choirgirl/Venus era Tori had returned. The song even sounds like a lost track from Choirgirl or Venus. The more I listened, the more the lyrics resonated. “There are some, some who give blood, I give love.” That opened up the scene for me. Her “love” was her sacrifice to him. She was willing to give that up, to give herself, in order to get what she needed. She needed to get close to him in order to reach the ones who destroyed her family. And if it meant giving him control of her life, that’s what she would do. But, don’t underestimate this girl. She could bring anyone down without a second thought and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. I hope I can portray both his sinister nature and her power in a way that is reasonable and, more importantly, believable.

Q: Who Killed tender_buttons? A: Amanda Palmer

2009-10-11T21:00:00.001-04:00

Amanda Palmer is, like me, a Taurus. Now I honestly don’t know if she remains true to the Taurus traits, but I certainly do. I’m known to be ~~a bit~~ very stubborn. I resisted The Dresden Dolls for a long time. It wasn’t until the True Colors Tour that I finally really listened to them. I was hooked. Immediately.

A little over a year later, Amanda released her solo cd Who Killed Amanda Palmer, which certainly did me in. I must have listened to it for weeks on end. With each listen, I found a new element that I loved--a lyric, a melody, or even a song I may have dismissed initially. But, I think what draws me to her is not necessarily AMANDA PALMER the performer, but Amanda Palmer the businesswoman/artist/person.

I love the small (or large) connections she makes with fans. Gig-specific merchandise (beyond tour specific). Blogs that reveal both personal experiences and views on her profession. Secret twitter gatherings. Late night twitter parties/confessionals. There are two twitter-related events that really cemented my love for her (as if there was really a doubt how I felt before).

One night in June, she held a gathering of #LOFNOTC (Losers Of Friday Night On Their Computers) and began posting pictures of “The First International Visual Twitter Novella.” I remember sitting at the computer with tears streaming down my face after she posted two pictures. I was still in a bit of a crisis/denial mode, having turned 25 for the sixth time about two months prior (yes, I still refuse to say the real number). In the first, she wrote on her arm, “Why can’t I just get my fucking act together?” In the second she wrote on her hand, “I’m fucking 33 and still keep losing everything.” It was heartbreaking, and I understood completely. In that moment, I just felt so connected and, strangely, so much better (even though my heart went out to her that night). To see someone else posting my exact feelings helped me break out of my little crisis and realize that I’m okay (or, I will be). Bad days come, bad days go. Sometimes you just need to get all of the negativity out of your system. And sometimes the best way to do that is to dig out a Sharpie and have a virtual therapy session.

The second twitter event came shortly after this night. It was a secret show for which tickets were only given out via twitter. Years of typing paid off, and my fast fingers secured two spots in the audience. I had seen Amanda solo several times before, but this performance was truly special. An audience of 200 packed into a small (and sweltering) recording studio to hear a few old favorites and one brand new/never been played/still in progress song. (As an added bonus, her open camera policy satisfies another passion--shown here and here.)

She really knows how to use the internet to her advantage, and so many other artists I love (*ahem* I’m looking at you, Tori Amos) could learn from her. She’s established a strong community of fans and fellow artists. She’s used the internet to announce impromptu gatherings. And if she can make $19,000 in ten hours over twitter, imagine what other artists could do! She has also recently blogged about her methods here.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who will disagree with her or who will be turned off by her methods. But, I appreciate what she's doing and I think she's brilliant for trying to find a way to survive. I worked in a small music store just as mp3s were gaining in popularity and the music industry was fighting them. By not embracing the change, everyone suffered--small music stores, artists, and the industry as a whole. Now, I'm in another changing industry--books. Thankfully, I think publishers have learned from the mistakes that were made in music and are doing what they can to embrace and work with change. And while I don't think either industry will ever die completely, both need to accept or to create change in order to survive.

I’ve never been able to stay for a meet and greet after a show—I usually have to head back to the other side of the state—so I guess this is my way of saying what I’m not sure I’d even be able to say in person: thank you. Thank you for making beautiful music that helps me break out of writer’s block. I’m not sure I can even begin to count the ways you’ve inspired and influenced bits of writing. Thank you for connecting with people in real and meaningful ways and for being so generous with both your gifts and your time. Thank you for being human and sharing your feelings (and flaws!), even if some may view that as TMI. Your passion for your art is infectious and inspirational. I’m looking forward to more music (and to continually emptying my bank account for you). See you on the road next month.

Music I Write By - "Marry Me" (St. Vincent)

2009-10-07T07:54:00.000-04:00

I discovered St. Vincent through one of Amanda Palmer’s blogs. I bookmarked her MySpace page and forgot about her for a while. A few months later, I went back and listened. I was blown away. Annie Clark is stunning—both physically and vocally (and the guitar playing isn’t too shabby, either). On that note, if St. Vincent is playing anywhere near you, GO.

“Marry Me” is such a beautiful song—a lovely melody and a very pleasant sound. After a few listens, it sparked a scene I knew I needed to write but could not. Again, back to the doomed love story of the main characters. After trying to stay away from each other and after saying goodbye for a second time (after the scene inspired by “A Night Like This”), fate throws them together once more. He uses this opportunity to try to convince her to stay with him for good. But, what fun would it be if things were that simple? Instead, I prefer to torture them for just a little longer…can’t let a happy ending ruin this yet! So, she relents for a short time, only to leave before he wakes up the next day. She’s a bit fickle, in a way, and she is leading him on early in the story. But it isn’t really malicious—it is more about confusion. She doesn’t know how to go after the things she wants, and she’s afraid that, as usual, anything good will be taken from her.

I just hope that all of these “almosts” and the constant push and pull of their relationship is more exciting than tiresome!

Passion for Books

2009-10-04T20:49:00.000-04:00

Short entry today--still too tired to function.

Sometimes I forget how much (and why) I love books.

I'm working in a bookstore these days. Most who know me realize that this is far from my dream. But I do love being surrounded by books. However, the day-to-day life wears on me. I end up becoming tired of seeing books and talking about books (because, in spite of what some people think, I have not read every single book in the store).

Once a year, I go to a bookseller conference and trade show. I spend the day talking with publishers and authors. I pick up books that I might not have looked at otherwise. I come home with enough books for at least a year. I feel refreshed by the end of the day. I see art and literature that inspires me. I remember why I want to write books and why I want to work in publishing. To spend a day surrounded by people involved in all aspects of the book industry--people who are so passionate about books--restores my faith in and my passion for books.

Though I still strive for a job outside of retail, at least I remember why books are so powerful and so important to me.

Music I Write By – “Good Day” (The Dresden Dolls)

2009-09-30T19:58:00.000-04:00

From a personal standpoint, this is my “go to hell” song. If I’m having a particularly bad day, or just want to tell someone exactly where they can go, I’ll usually come home and blast this song. And yes, whether I should or not, I always belt out “I’m on fiiiiiiiiire!” I’m sure my neighbors love me.

When I was trying to work through a revenge scene, this song came to mind. I could hear it playing softly as the lead exacted her revenge. I envisioned that same line I always belt out blasting as she recalled what she had done and came to terms with its ramifications. Those close to her may not think she is right and may not want to hear about her “good day,” but she feels justified in her actions.

Fair warning: there are at least three other Dolls/Amanda Palmer songs on the writing playlist. I’ll try to space these out so no one gets sick of them. But, Amanda has been a very powerful influence in recent years. Something in her writing speaks to me and inspires mine (and hopefully, it is not inspiring a simple rewrite of her ideas).

Up next in the series: someone I discovered through Amanda (and another one after that!).

A Word About Process

2009-09-27T20:32:00.000-04:00

One of the issues I’ve had with this novel is the writing process itself. I’ve been jumping around a lot, writing scenes as they come to me. That end of it doesn’t really bother me. I think it is best to just go with it rather than sticking to a rigid order. I think if I stuck with an outline and wrote in chronological order, much of the writing would be forced.

The frustration lies in putting this together. I find that I get wrapped up in certain scenes and end up writing and rewriting them several times. It has, at times, prevented me from moving forward with the plot.

To help myself feel better about getting stuck, I tell myself that there is a reason I keep coming back to certain scenes. They are important—essential to the plot. They need to be absolutely perfect for the story to move forward and to be engaging to the reader.

Sometimes, this works. Sometimes, I’m still stuck in the rewrite cycle. If I find that I cannot move forward, then I know my brain is telling me that it is time for a break. I avoid the novel for a few days, or even weeks. I read and take pictures, and I try to indulge other passions that will get my creative juices flowing again. In time, I’m refreshed and ready to tackle a few new scenes.

How do you break out of a bad writing cycle and get back to your story?

Music I Write By - "A Night Like This" (The Cure)

2009-09-16T08:18:00.000-04:00

So, hopefully, The Cure restored a little cred here. I have always loved Robert Smith (we share the same birthday, too!). A friend introduced me to The Cure when we were in high school and I was hooked. Let me get one thing off my chest right now: yes, I do think Disintegration is the best album ever. Yes, I know, that’s (almost) everyone’s answer (or, Kyle’s from South Park, at least). But I don’t care. It’s dark and gorgeous and I never tire of it. There. I feel better.

So, I rediscovered this song while ripping records to mp3. This was a surprisingly cheap find at a local record shop. The song brought to mind one of those cliché dark and stormy night scenes—running through streets and back alleys to reach someone. And for whatever reason, I feel I should apologize for imagining such a cliché. Anyway, for me, this was the perfect music for a difficult goodbye. Two characters have to sever their ties due to unfortunate (and stupid) circumstances. It is difficult and painful and a decision they both regret. I always picture him with his head on the door (oh hai! see what I did there?), while she’s collapsed on the other side, both longing to take it back, to be together in spite of the circumstances and their consequences. This will be a running theme for these two. I’m a sucker for a love story, but I’m an even bigger sucker for the Romeo & Juliet theme (but I suspect my desire for a happy ending will win in the end).

Abnormally Attracted to Tori Amos

2009-09-13T09:47:00.000-04:00

So, its time to address the long-standing, complicated, and expensive love for one singer. Tori Amos. I remember seeing “Silent All These Years” on MTV way back in 1992 (back in those days, kids, MTV actually played music videos). I remember liking it, but kind of dismissing it because, well, she wasn’t Paula Abdul. Oh, how things have changed. Paula will always have a special place in my heart, as I started taking dance lessons because of her…but these days I do prefer music with a little more meaning and substance (though I will still sing along with “Straight Up”).

In 1996, I rediscovered Tori and that began my years-long love affair with her music. Boys for Pele was released that year and remains in my top two favorites to this day (it is often stuck in a battle with From the Choirgirl Hotel). When you’re going through a breakup, you need a breakup album. It’s just that simple. Even 13 years later, those songs can move me in a way that few others can. And, this album helped me find a name for my baby.

My first two concert attempts failed miserably. In 1996, she was scheduled to play a small theatre in Maine. Unfortunately, due to some structural problems at the venue, the concert was canceled and NEVER RESCHEDULED. Imagine, if you will, a group of hormonal teenage girls huddled in their homeroom, crying as they learned the news. It was not a pretty sight. To this day, I am haunted by this concert, as I have yet to hear my favorite song live—and it was on every setlist that tour.

In my Freshman year of college, Tori went on a small club tour to promote From the Choirgirl Hotel. I was home on Spring break when tickets went on sale, so I trusted a friend and fellow Toriphile with our ticket purchase. Sadly, he didn’t realize how well publicized this tour was. He showed up at the box office when it opened—only to find a line three blocks long. Needless to say, we didn’t get tickets.

Finally, I experienced my first live show later that summer. Even though she was a bit under the weather, that show was amazing. She was in top form in 1998, and I am grateful I got to see her at her best.

Over the years, I worked on completing my collection—cd singles (remember those? I miss them!) with rare b-sides, promos, and yes, even bootlegs. In that time, I witnessed the slow decline in her music. Don’t get me wrong here. I love her. I always will. And I’ll probably defend her to the death (I’m a card carrying fairywinger, after all). But after The Beekeeper, I was sure I’d have to turn in my fan card forever. Many of the songs were too adult contemporary sounding and lacked the power of her earlier work. She was tired. She is an amazing performer, but even the shows I saw that tour were lacking the passion she used to display.

But, with the release of American Doll Posse in 2007 and Abnormally Attracted to Sin in 2009, a little of the old Tori is coming back. Though she is in desperate need of a producer (a 23 track album, while exciting, is simply too much), the sound is definitely better than the light adult contemporary fare of before. Her last two tours have been spectacular. Her voice sounds strong again and her performances are passionate. She restored my faith and renewed my love for her. Of course, I still worry that she’ll release another Beekeeper. But, I’d like to think that she’s getting back on the right track and future releases will keep getting better.

I consider my relationship with her and her music difficult because I’m so frustrated by some of her recent work. Then I go back to her earlier work and I’m blown away as though I’m hearing it for the first time. I know that her popularity has waned over the last few years, but I know she’s still got so much left to give. She’s incredibly smart, but seems reluctant to really embrace the internet. If she truly harnessed the power of Twitter, Facebook/MySpace, and offered exclusive downloads and merchandise through her website, she could gain a new legion of fans and play to sold out crowds across the country and the world once again. She did offer official “bootlegs” of several 2007 shows, which were very successful and popular—but I know she has recorded all of her shows (at least since 1996), and many of those shows deserve to see the light of day!

Regardless of her decisions, I will still buy her new releases. I’ll still spend an hour on Live Nation trying for good seats. And even if she does release another Beekeeper, I’ll still defend her. She’s helped me so much over the years, both in my personal life and in my writing. I don’t think I could have finished my thesis without Scarlet’s Walk playing in the background. When I need good writing music, I'll always run to her. So, really, I’m not sure I could turn my back on her if I tried.

Music I Write By - "Cry" (Pray for the Soul of Betty)

2009-09-09T08:39:00.001-04:00

As with Maroon 5, this is a little embarrassing, so let’s get all of the jokes out of the way. Yes, this is the band Constantine Maroulis was in. Yes, that Constantine Maroulis—the former American Idol contestant (and Tony nominee, ahem). Yes, I saw them in concert after his AI run. Okay? Do we feel better now? Good. I should point out that when searching for a couple of these links, the first search suggestion in Google was "Constantine Maroulis girlfriend." No, I did not follow that suggestion.

Admittedly, "Cry" is not a spectacular song, but I do love it. It helped me flesh out a character: one of the main characters. I’ve borrowed bits of Constantine for him. He’s a singer. A dreamer. A fighter. Generous and loving (I do hope those two character traits hold true for the real life inspiration, too). He's a charmer...and he knows it (I get the impression that one is true for the real life inspiration). Ah, the beauty of fiction--people can be as perfect or imperfect as you wish.

As a performer, Constantine knows how to work a stage and play for his audience. Okay, to be fair, it probably isn't too difficult, considering women make up the majority of the audience. But he does have this intense stare—it’s mesmerizing and uncomfortable. That’s what I used to introduce the main characters. She wanders into the bar where he is performing (I always imagine this song playing). She is drawn in by his voice. As she approaches the stage, they lock eyes. That intense stare sparked an instant attraction and nearly brought her to her knees. She's used to men looking at her, but to have someone look into her eyes and maintain that gaze is unsettling. As they get to know one another, he truly relishes being able to make her uncomfortable in spite of her tough exterior.

For years, I struggled with this character. I didn’t know who he was or what his role in the story would be. Through this song (and singer), I discovered that he’s a major part of the story and the great love of the lead character’s life. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a love story.

Last silly confession: I really do want to see Rock of Ages. I'm also a sucker for 80s cheese.

I'll get help, I promise.

Hopefully my next installment of the series will restore a bit of my cred or something. :) I'm pretty sure The Cure is next on the list. That's better, right?

A Word About Writing

2009-09-06T08:13:00.000-04:00

Although I will frequently refer to this novel that has been haunting me forever, I will likely offer very few details. It is a work in progress. The story is growing and changing. Characters may change. The plot may change. When I started this as a teenager, I had a very different plot in mind and somehow envisioned a trilogy. Today, I see one book with one complete story. My characters are older now and some of their stories and personalities have changed.

As I’ve gotten older and explored my passions, I’ve put those into the book. My lead character is a photographer and her style is similar to that of my favorite photographer: Nan Goldin. My love for music is reflected in characters who are musicians and a in few specific mentions of songs.

And things still grow and change as I go along. When I wrote a scene a few days ago, I was surprised by the direction it took, as it wasn’t what I intended. When I started out, I knew how a certain character died and I knew exactly who was responsible. But as the words poured out of me, I knew that the change in direction was right. It was exactly what needed to happen. It may be wrong, but it feels right for the story.

Anyway, this is a roundabout way of apologizing for being vague. When I finally finish this and get to a point where I am reasonably comfortable with the story, I will share more details. The end is in sight...but it is going take some time to get there!

Music I Write By – “Wake Up Call” (Maroon 5)

2009-09-02T07:32:00.006-04:00

Let me preface this by saying that this is certainly not the most embarrassing song on my writing playlist or in my library. I’m quite sure that honor falls to some sort of American Idol-related or smooth jazz cd. Heck, I’ll just say Savage Garden because, well, that’s probably about as wussy as it gets—sorry, guys.

Subject matter aside, "Wake Up Call" is incredibly catchy. When I heard this song, it helped me work through a fight and breakup scene that had been troubling me. While the scene doesn’t follow the plot of the song exactly, it was influenced by the emotion of the song. It’s still a work in progress and doesn’t quite pack the punch that it needs. But I like the anger coupled with cold indifference and I’m trying to add that to the scene. The challenge is that I’ve created a man too weak to fight. I don’t think I can make him stand up to the girl in a way that does him, or the scene, justice.

I know it’s strange to talk about a piece of writing and not post it, but I feel uncomfortable posting creative writing online. Photos can be watermarked (which doesn’t offer 100% protection, but it helps). I can’t do that with writing. I don’t necessarily think my work is worthy of stealing, but I also don’t care to take that chance right now. I often wonder how other authors feel about this or get around it. Should I post work (no matter how rough) or am I right to hold it close until (god-willing) it is published?

Apologies for getting sidetracked there. Anyway, this will probably be an occasional series. I have several songs on my playlist that either inspired specific scenes or helped me work through something difficult. What about you? What songs have inspired your writing?

Strength Through Music* - OR – Writing Through The Garbage

2009-08-30T09:51:00.003-04:00

Most days, I call myself a writer who doesn’t write. For a long time it was crippling to stare at that blank page and have no words to fill it. So I just stopped. I gave up. I earned a Master of Arts in English with a concentration in creative writing—specifically poetry. You must have a sense of humor about your direction in life when you go to school to write poetry. After the obligatory post-college out-of-state move, I landed a freelance job writing short keyword articles for the web. To this day, I have no idea what they were for or how they were used. All that mattered was that I was making $5 per article. I knew I had made it. Until the work dried up. I continued to write for a short time after that, but soon, inspiration and confidence dried up. I was getting increasingly frustrated by poor job prospects (I desperately wanted—and still do want—to work in publishing). Writing had failed me. I failed.

So I focused on other passions. I read more—the first real pleasure reading I had done in years. I started taking pictures again. I started collecting music again. When I was young, I remember spending hours sitting in front of the stereo listening to my father’s records. His love for music rubbed off on me and soon I was collecting records, cassettes, and cds (then records again). In college, I spent one summer working in an indie record shop (which is, to this day, one of my favorite jobs. I had an amazing boss and I was exposed to so much great music). Later, I was given the task of stocking a friend’s newly restored jukebox. Picking up strange 45s inspired me to start collecting records again. As I slowly converted all of my music to mp3, I began finding musical treasures. The music would conjure images and scenes from the long-dormant novel I started as a high school freshman. It was time to write again.

In the last few months, I’ve started writing again with some regularity. It’s not perfect. It’s out of order. Some of the scenes are messy. There’s a lot of dialogue and little description (I think I’m in denial and I’m actually writing a screenplay). I call it writing through the garbage because I’m just getting all of the ideas out on paper. And I do mean that literally. I prefer to write longhand first. There is something so satisfying about the pen gliding across the paper. Tapping keys just does not compare.

I still write poetry, but I am overwhelmed by a poetry project I created and cannot yet finish. For now, I’m content to focus on my novel. However embarrassing it may be that I read more literary fiction and this leans Jackie Collins.

So that, my friends, is the story of my writing. This reluctant blogger will return with another installment. At some point. I guess. ;)

*"Strength Through Music" is also a song by the amazing Amanda Palmer who will, at some point soon, have an entry devoted entirely to her.

She's Alive! No, Really!

2009-04-23T19:05:00.002-04:00

Thanks to a conversation with the amazing Elisa of Ophelia's Webb, I am going to attempt to resurrect this blog. Bear with me as I try to figure out how to do this again...

Coming soon: making friends at the laundromat, digging for records, and why I can't finish writing that novel.