35 Posts and counting...

When I decided to post a poem a day for National Poetry Month I never imagined I would have 35 posts up by April 27th.  Posting once a day isn't really that difficult when it's only a poem. Well, at least not for me.  Though, I have to admit there were a few days where I was less than inspired.  You can tell those days by the single short entries.  Meanwhile, there were a few where I was inspired and either wrote longer pieces, or multiple entries.  

I tend to have big ideas and good intentions and crappy follow-through. So, I'm proud of myself for not wimping out and missing any days. And, yes, I know the month isn't quite over yet; but at this point I have enough faith in myself to know I'll finish it out with a poem each day.

I'm glad I did this...I'd like to continue it as long as I can. It's become a pretty cool habit. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has read any of all of these this month.  If anything strikes you in any way, I'd love your feedback (good, bad, or indifferent). Hearing people's thoughts on my writing helps me improve, and makes it all worthwhile.

I Write Poems

I write poems

because I believe in words

I believe in feeling

things deeply

completely

examining the world around me

examining myself

stirring up the emotions

and throwing the words that bubble

to the surface

of who I am

who I have been

and who I am meant to be

at the paper in front of me

and seeing what sticks

I write poems

to free myself

from me

to give myself

to you

to search my soul for you

and share the lessons I and we learn

exposing the truth of what I have lived

the hope of who I am becoming

writing the words that are

the double edged sword

of joy and pain

that life delivers as twins

birthed from the living of life

surviving and thriving in the sharing

of simple words 

that say so much

As I Choose to Be

Horror makes me laugh
You can not write a demon
Worse than what I've faced

I've seen time stand still
Stared into Hell's dark abyss
Rescued by a friend

And so now I know
That everything is precious
Even bad days good

Each tick of the clock
An individual joy
That won't come again

So thrill me with death
Write of wanton destruction
I'm stronger than that

I can read knowing
I'm safe in the here and now
As I choose to be

Reviews: Dead Mech by Jake Bible

There are a few things to keep in mind when reading this review.  First of all, I usually hate zombie stories.  I just don't get them.  The whole coming back to life to eat the living thing is patently stupid (imho). Not to mention scientifically preposterous. Secondly, I'm not a big fan of post-apocalyptic stories.  They are just too damn depressing and dreary for my tastes. And, Finally, I have a low tolerance for blood, guts, gore, and violence--the ick factor.  Well, I used to anyway...

I listened to the podcast version of Dead Mech and bought the ebook version because Jake is a friend.  I'll try anything at least once and twice if a friend is involved.  Reading and listening were both wonderful experiences but for different reasons.  I highly recommend both.  

This novel is unique in that it is the first drabble novel.  A drabble is a piece of flash fiction that is exactly 100 words.  Not 99.  Not 101.  I tried my hand at this form of writing last year and wrote about the process here. It was a very good experience for me, but not something I plan on repeating anytime soon.  Jake wrote this story one drabble at a time.  Each one is a complete thought, often a scene, sometimes a part of a scene.  But, each is a perfect drabble.  This alone astonishes me and made the read very enjoyable.  Because of the nature of a drabble the writing is tight and precise.

Jake is a natural storyteller and hearing the book read by him was a joy. Dead Mech was his first podcasting experience and he learned and improved as he went; but it is good from the very first episode and only gets better.

For me, the thing that is the biggest determining factor in whether or not I like a story isn't the plot, or the genre, or the setting...it's the characters.  If the writer can bring the characters to life and make me care about them, I'll follow them damn near anywhere.  Jake does that beautifully here.  The story lines are all good and tightly interwoven. But, the characters are real and memorable. I was surprised to realize when listening to his Q & A episode afterwards that he never gave full descriptions to any of the characters.  Yet, even now, I still see them all clearly in my mind.  And somehow I know the Rookie has blue eyes.  Trust me on that.

Remember the objections I listed at the beginning of this: zombies, post-apocalyptic, and the ick factor? Well, this is about giant mechanized war machines in a post-apocalyptic world where not only are there zombies, but the mechs themselves become zombies...throw in some cannibalism and cage fighting and well, there you have it.  Even with all of that, I absolutely LOVED this book.  That's how wonderful the characters are and how fine a job Jake did with the writing.

There were moment when I laughed till I cried; others where I just cried.  I finally get zombie stories--it's NOT about the zombies.  The zombies are just the obstacle for the heroes to conquer.

This book is available in free podcast format at Podiobooks.com and in paperback and ebook versions at all the typical retailers.  Jake is currently podcasting a second novel that happens at the same time as Dead Mech, a sidequel as it were...  That Jakey, he's always gotta be different...

Jake's website
Amazon
B & N
Podiobooks



***Disclaimer***
I am not a professional critic (though I am rather critical of some things some days, but I digress).  I occasionally will post a review of something I have enjoyed that I think is worth your time and/or money. I don't as a general rule put up negative reviews.  Not because I love everything I see, hear, or read; but rather because I know how hard people work on these things and I have no intention of being overly critical.  I would rather just not say anything than trash someone else's hard work. I usually know the people involved and want to do whatever I can to get their wonderful work out to more people.  However, I don't write these because my friends created the work. I write them because I truly enjoyed the work itself.  I receive no remuneration of any kind for any review I write.  

Success Guest Posts Wanted

Back on June 7th I got one of my hair-brained ideas; I decided to ask for guest posts on the subjects of Art, Creativity, and/or Inspiration. In addition to putting out the post and a few tweets, I sent out direct messages inviting creative folks I knew to participate.

The resulting posts went up on a new site called ChocolateScotch.com. As of today, there are 63 guest posts on those topics. They range from an audio response to a sonnet, to a fictionalized account of me searching for thoughts on creativity inside the mind of a friend. And while I think the possibilities for posts about art, creativity, and/or inspiration are endless, I've decided to move on and give you a new topic: success.

So tell me what "success" means to you. What is it? How do you define it? Is it lasting? Fleeting? Elusive? Possible? How do you know when you are successful? What constitutes success for you? Work? Fame? Family? Money? And, once you define it, how long till that definition changes?

You can send your thoughts (along with a short bio if you are new to Chocolate Scotch as a contributor) to DyedBrightHere (at) gmail (dot) com.

One Day by Keith Dugger

I had a terrible, horrible, day today. Doubting myself. Frustrated. Angry. Sad. All those rotten emotions kept coming at me even as I tried to find my center, my balance. I had let someone upset and anger me well beyond what I should have. Basically, it was just one of those days. 

When I tried to vent some of this I became even more frustrated and angry because I was censoring myself. It's hard to vent and hold your thoughts back at the same time. Then I received an email from one of my best friends, Keith Dugger.  At the first two words the tears started to flow and by the end I was bawling like a baby. I guess I needed that.

Thank you, Keith for the gift of your words, your friendship, and for always knowing what I need from you even when I don't know myself. I love this.

One Day

by Keith Dugger

One day you'll look up and it'll be there. You may have stopped looking for it, hoping and praying for it by then. You may have stopped believing that you deserve it. At the time, you won't recognize it. Even if you catch a glimpse of something you remember, you'll tell yourself that it isn't possible. You'll see what the world around you had taught you to see, but it'll be there. 

One day you'll look up and you'll realize that it's been there all along. Even when others might have said different or pulled you down with them. It's the little things that bring it, it's the little things that tear it down. But it's there. Waiting. It's patient and it'll wait for you in the silvery shadows for as long as it takes for you to remember that you deserve its friendship, its companionship.

One day you'll look up and it'll be there staring back at you with a smile that seems humanly impossible. And that will be the day happiness reminded you that it was there.

Interrogation by Dave Sobkowiak

When a friend of mine, Dave Sobkowiak, saw the combination of posts from a few days ago he was inspired to create a little piece of writing for me.

The first post talked about my frustration at having to second guess which of my posts, which words, could or would be taken out of context or possibly used against me in some way by my soon-to-be-ex. And my decision to censor myself creatively and just not post any more poems for the time being. I then went on to take down about a third of my posts.

The second post was a call for submissions on Creativity, Art, and/or Inspiration. I hadn't thought about the two posts together. They were completely separate events for me. I have always had a fascination for finding out what makes people tick...in this case other artists.

Dave saw the irony (and felt my anger) of the two combined. First, I was saying that because of the actions of another I was taking my own content down. Then, I was asking for new content from others.

Thank you, Dave, for this. I love it.

Because of recent events I feel compelled to list the following disclaimers:
1. The following is a work of FICTION
2. I am not the author

That said, I hope this makes you smile...

Interrogation

by Dave Sobkowiak

Anger, fueled by rage.

That's what they said when they hauled me in, and deposited me unceremoniously on to the chair.

I expected a bright light in my eyes. I expected a stone-cold interrogator.

I half expected to be beaten with a hose, but to my surprise none of this occurred.

My cuffs removed, coffee offered and received, I remained untethered to the chair, watching as they played good cop and better cop.

I smiled politely, and I nodded occasionally when they offered their insights.

I feigned ignorance in a manner a child could recognize as transparent.

Their patience with me was admirable, but they knew the truth.

They will never find your body.

Guest Posts Wanted

Creativity
Art

 Inspiration

When you see those words what comes to mind? Are you a "creative"? Do you write, draw, compose, paint, dye, design, or create things that are unique to you?


I want to know your thoughts on any or all of those three words. In whatever context you chose to write about. What do you create? How do you do it? What inspires you? What are your thoughts on art in general? Anything. It can be insightful, poignant, funny--whatever--I want to know what YOU think.


I will be contacting people directly but don't wait for me...if you are interested you can send me a DM on Twitter (@BrightEyedDyer) or send an email to DyedBrightHere (at) gmail (dot) com. If I'm not already following you on Twitter, just give a yell and I'll correct that.


Thank you all in advance...I can't wait to find out what you think, what inspires your creativity.

**You can email your posts to me at the above address. I'm not looking to intrude too much on anyone's busy schedule so the deadline is when you can get it done (preferably in the next few weeks). I am hoping to start running them in a couple of weeks. One every day or other day depending on how many of you are brave enough...

Thank you again!


~~Added on 2/18/12:  This post and the response it generated were the catalyst to a little site called Chocolate Scotch. I am still seeking guest posts and would love to include you and your thoughts in this project.   Sue~~

For Now

I wrote a simple little poem a moment ago. I was about to post it when I stopped to wonder what he would think of it and how would his reaction affect me.

Would there be even more animosity (as if that's possible some days)? Would it cause him to send yet another email to his lawyer (which in turn means one from her to my lawyer and then one from him to me in a viscous, expensive cycle)? Would I feel better in some minuscule way for having posted it? Is it even possible to feel better? And, now that I've spent all this time and emotional energy pondering his reaction and the value of the post in relation to his reaction, do I even give a damn?

I go through this internal debate every time I consider posting something now. To say I am pissed off about this doesn't begin to describe my anger. I write for me. That a few people might enjoy reading my poems or thoughts is just a bonus. Writing is a release of sorts but more than that, it's a way for me to look back and remember moments, emotions, things that would otherwise be lost in the stream of fleeting thoughts that flows out from me.

I love having other people read my words. For now, it's just not worth it. So, I might still post the occasional thought here--most likely in essay or journal entry format--but I think I'm done with putting my poetry out for public view. Too often they are too close to what I really think and feel. And in those rare moments when I try to push myself to stretch and do fiction or other forms, they are taken out of context and used against me.

To put it simply; for now, I'm done.

For now.

PS: This doesn't mean I will stop writing. On the contrary, I will probably write more. I just won't be posting them here publicly. For now. There WILL be a later. I guarandamntee that.

Insights on Art

I just finished listening to my friend, Paul E. Cooley's (of ShadowPublications.com) first con panel from ConJour, "Why Aren't Horror Movies Scary Anymore?"  and I had some thoughts, not just on horror or movies but on writing and creating in general. In fact, the lessons I take away from this would probably apply to just about any form of creative endeavor.

1. Get an education in your chosen medium. Learn the history and immerse yourself in what has already been done. Figure out what you like and don't like and most importantly, why.

2. Get an education in art in general. No particular medium exists in a vacuum. Inspiration and points of reference are everywhere.

3. Have something to say. If you don't know what you are trying to express, how will you know if or when you have said it? Once you have figured out what you want to say, don't pussyfoot around; express your point of view and defend it if you have to. Then, be willing to listen to people's opinions and maybe learn from them. Art is a conversation.

4. Keep it simple. And, often, less is more. You may have a lot of things you want to express, a lot of things you want to try. That's fine, but if you try to do too much in one piece you will most likely confuse your audience or lose them entirely. Do one or two things, and do them well. Save the next couple of things for your next piece.

I have never been a huge fan of horror in the past so my personal knowledge of this genre is very limited. I am thankful that my friends have different passions and preferences from mine as interacting with them broadens my horizons. So, thank you, Paul, for the insight you and your fellow pannelists provided. Job well done.

Step outside your comfort zone. Read, listen to, watch, or experience something you usually wouldn't; make yourself think. Who knows, you just might enjoy it...

Words of Advice to a Writer

Words of advice to a writer
Working on a story
When the story in his head
Seems to want to be bigger than he had planned on:


Don't worry about what it wants to be
Let it do what it wants
You are not the story
You are just the writer


You do what it tells you
For now
Then we beat it into submission
Later

Life lessons: What are you?

What are you?

Notice, I'm not asking 'who' you are but rather 'what' you are. We all have a name we call ourselves; usually given to us, sometimes chosen by us or our friends, usually two or three names strung together, but sometimes only one. While we 'know' each other by these names, rarely do they convey anything at all about us meaningful. So, we label ourselves. We package our identity in words and phrases designed to explain our various functions, jobs, talents, and desires to others. We then use those labels to make decisions about ourself and others.

The moment you were born, and with the medical technology now commonly available often long before your physical birth, you received your first in a long line of labels--son or daughter. Your sexual identity was proclaimed and tagged with the simple sentence, "It's a boy". Next came your introduction to your place in a pecking order; you were either the oldest, the second child, the youngest, or a combination of these things. Sometimes it took years to know if you would be the middle child, or the youngest or where your final place would be. Eventually, this was worked out and you were properly labeled.

Your physical circumstances became labels whether you embraced them or not. Some of us are thinner than others, some are fatter. Some have blue eyes, some brown. Your social circumstances play a part as well. Many get married and add labels of 'husband' or 'wife' to their growing resume of identifying descriptors. Some become parents. Some own pets. We move through school and into jobs. We identify ourself by those things as well.

Beyond these labels that have been applied to us in terms of our relative families, our physical attributes, our fields of study, or our job titles, there are the labels we apply to ourselves. These do not necessarily have anything to do with those that someone else would apply to you. You might consider yourself to be a 'musician'. Others hearing you sing or play might disagree with your assessment. 

It is those self-applied labels that I am wondering about today. What do you list? What don't you list? Why? And, would the people around you who know you best agree or disagree with them?

Some of the things I call myself, like photographer, are things I am relatively competent at but don't pursue as a profession. Others, like musician, are things from my past that are now dormant and not necessarily still parts of me but are labels I'm not yet ready to discard.

Yesterday, an essay by Scott Roche titled "Aspire?" got me to thinking about the label 'writer'. I have been wrestling with the labels 'writer', 'poet', and 'editor' for a while now. I've had a hard time claiming any of these as parts of me. I have hesitated to own them. In large part, because they are relatively new to me. There is also the idea of competency involved with being able to state that I am a particular something or other.

I do write. Almost every day. In one way or another. I am hard pressed to remember days where I didn't create either a blog post of some sort, a poem, or an article. I edit things for other people almost daily, from large novels down to bits and pieces of miscellaneous things. Even as I recognize that I do these things, I have still been reluctant to claim them as parts of myself. Why?

In part, I think it has to do with the fact that so many of my friends are writers or editors these days. Most of them grew up writing and knowing they were writers. They have been crafting words for years. This was most definitely not the case for me. I had a difficult time even learning to read and didn't become a voracious reader until I was ten when I was given the first six Nancy Drew mysteries by a friend of the family who had noticed me struggling to read. From then on, I read constantly. While I read everything I could get my hands on, and could tell someone what I liked or didn't, I couldn't tell them why. Nor could I get my own thoughts or ideas out in any kind of coherent fashion. I avoided writing all the way through school. I would wait till the last possible moment, get a random topic from a classmate that fit the particular type of paper I was required to write (compare and contrast for example), and on an adrenaline rush, crank out the minimum requirement. I usually got a B. But it was a torturous endeavor that left me in a cold sweat for the rest of the day. The only reason I think I was able to write even to a B level was the detachment involved with writing about something random that I had no emotional connection to in any way. When I tried to get my own thoughts out, I end up with a disjointed mess of randomness and not quite getting to the point. I'm hoping this essay doesn't become a case-in-point.

My editing is the same way. I know what sounds or looks right to me. But ask me why, and there is a good chance I'm either not going to be able to articulate it, or the answer will not be in terms you would learn in any English class. Having said that, I began to own the label 'editor' long before 'writer' in part because while I have a lot of insecurity over whether I am a 'good' editor or not, I know I am editing. But that is a question of qualifying my abilities as an editor and whether or not anyone else values my work as such. For now, I have decided to own it. It has become a part of who I am and something I enjoy immensely.

Calling myself a poet was also difficult for me. I've always thought of poetry as such a difficult craft, a rare and beautiful art form requiring painstaking delicate precision--ballet in word form. I hesitate to even say I write poems as more often than not, they write me. How can I take credit for something I didn't really do? They seem to be born in front of me. Often, I look back and read through them and don't even remember creating them. But whether I labor over them and rip them from myself, or they appear effortlessly, I am finally acknowledging them as my creations. And so, I am a poet.

While I have come to call myself a 'poet' and an 'editor' I still had a difficult time saying, "I am a writer". I have attempted to write fiction. Not very successfully. Somehow, I had the idea of 'writer' confused with 'writer of fiction'. I have been writing blog entries for almost five years now and recently started writing non-fiction articles on knitting. for whatever reason, it has taken me a very long time to be able to label myself as a writer.

Perhaps my reluctance with all of these is the desire to have qualifiers in front of them. I want to be good at these. And, without some form of acceptance, I wasn't willing to lay claim to them. I enjoy these things. I wouldn't be struggling to write this now if I didn't feel some sort of need to express myself in some way. That said, I don't want to do these things without some sort of validation.

One of the biggest changes I have been slowly going through is learning to give myself validation. Not just in these things, but in all things. And, in learning that lesson, I can now say that in addition to all the other things I am, I am also a poet, a writer, and an editor.

I would never have been able to learn this lesson (or so many others) without the love, support, friendship, and patient teaching of so many friends. I am inspired and instructed by so many people, their words spoken and written, in public and in private, each and every day. So, thank you, Scott, for sharing your thoughts yesterday and in doing so, helping me clarify mine.

I Don't Write Poems

I don't write poems
I gently hold a thought
and wait for the words to come
and the poem
to write me.

How Do I Put This Stuff on a Resume?

I've finally started to face the fact that I need to put some serious effort into looking for a job.  This half-hearted approach isn't gonna cut it any longer.  There are some hard truths I must face in regards to my employment. At some point in the relatively near future (the next 12 months or so) I will need to find a new place to live.  I will also need my own health insurance.  I won't be able to have either of those things without a reliable income source.  I am also planning on at the very least sharing custody of our kids with my husband.  Again, a reliable income source and a place to live are rather important factors when it comes to custody issues.

I've been working on my resume.  Boy, that's a fun chore.  And looking at things on websites.  Everyone wants things categorized.  The big question is in what industry do you want to work.  Or, what is your specialty?  Well, as many of you should be able to guess by now, I am not an easily definable person.

Here are the things I think a potential employer should want to know about me (who I am, what I believe, and what I enjoy):

I am...

an introvert by nature

very extroverted with people I know

a team player

a people person

a problem solver

a "Why?" and a "What if?" kind of person

a quick learner (I make it a point to learn something every day)

a creative person

a thinker

a writer

an idea person

a leader

a follower

flexible

I believe in...

kindness and courtesy

treating people with respect

speaking plainly

truth and honesty

fairness

being positive

loyalty

balance

I enjoy...

working hard 

playing hard

a challenge

making goals

making mistakes

learning from mistakes

I am not looking for a career. So, I will not view my job as simply a stepping stone to something bigger and better. I am probably best suited for customer service but my skills are general and broad, my attitude good, and my willingness to learn high.  In fact, I probably need to be learning new things to stay happy.  At my last job I was cross trained to do every job possible.  I thrive on learning new things.  So, I'm not really sure how to go about looking for the job that this covers.  I could probably be happy doing almost anything.

So, if you happen to know of an opening for someone with general skills, the desire to help people or solve problems, a good attitude and pleasant demeanor, and a need to be constantly learning new things; could you give me a yell and/or put in a good word?  Thanks, I appreciate it.

My Friends' Writing

I watch the movie

play

in my mind

as I write

the words.

Words and thoughts

tumbling

swirling

who says

they have to make sense.

Brain matter

fecal matter

blood, guts, and gore

Geesh! The things my friends write

I love them in spite of it

Every once in a while

I find myself getting sucked in

their words crafted so artfully

the build-up so slow and delicious

FUCK!

The Unfocused Mind

When I write poetry I usually stick to two forms, haiku and gogyohka.  I also usually stick to one central idea or theme.  It may be in the form of a single word (like "lust" for example) or something I can't get off my mind (like an argument with a friend).  So, most of the time I am focusing intently on that one central idea.  I write until I can't any more; until it feels like I've made my point or have exhausted the topic for that day.  I average five to seven of these little poems on a theme.  I then group them together, format, and post them.

Haiku or senryu is what I do most often.  I've only recently started doing the less constrained gogyohka.  For whatever reason, yesterday I was in the mood for these sweet little relatively free form poems.  The only real requirements is that is is just five lines (usually short) and that it expresses a single thought.  There is also usually, but not required, a breathing line where one of the five lines is just a word or two and you would naturally take a breath or break here.

Without any particular idea in mind I simply wrote.  As thoughts hit me I pondered and wrote.   So, there were some natural groupings of three or four where the first little poem wasn't enough to get the thought out of my head.  I moved on to the next theme as soon as the ideas came.  There were times when my mind returned back to an earlier idea but from a different angle.  All in all it was very freeing to just let the words flow.  I've sifted through them all and arranged them into a number of different posts.  

I will definitely keep this lesson of the unfocused mind in mind from now on as I write.  It's great to be able to focus on a particular topic but I wonder what I was missing before when I clamped my brain onto that one idea and refused to consider other things?

To Podcast or Not to Podcast

Most of my friends are artists of one sort or another. A bunch of them are fiber artists: knitters, crocheters, spinners.  Some are visual artists: photographers, painters, graphic designers.  And then there are the writers and podcasters.  I lump writers and podcasters together because for the most part the podcasters are also writers.

Most of the podcasters have at one time or another inquired as to when I will be joining their ranks.  I'm not sure if they do this to every non-podcasting person they stumble upon or if I just look like a joiner in some way.  Come to think of it, I saw people spinning and thought it was cool.  Now, I spin too.  I saw my writing friends producing some really cool stories.  Now, I write too.  I've listened to podcasts from many of my friends, watched them record, even watched some editing and thought it looked complicated but cool.  Now, I'm on the fence deciding if I and when I get off the fence, do I jump down into their camp or run screaming into the night...

A friend of mine, Nobilis Reed, has decided to give me a nudge in the direction of podcasting.  He will be going on hiatus during the month of November and has asked me to write a short story and podcast it on his feed.  I am almost done with the writing.  It is taking me forever. Mainly because I have no discipline whatsoever in general but especially when it comes to writing.

I did take a first little tottering step toward the podcasting camp...I bought myself a really cool (and highly rated) microphone for my birthday last month.  Allow me to introduce you to my uber-sexy "Snowball" mic from the Blue Microphone Co.

Now I suppose I should plug the darn thing in and figure out how to use it...

Then comes the really fun part, learning how to do the editing.  *SIGH*

In the meantime, I have asked the insanely amazing voice actress, talented author, and award-winning podcaster Philippa Ballantine if she would be so kind as to do a guest post and give wannabe podcasters such as myself some advice. Her newest book, Geist, will be coming out October 26th but you can pre-order your copy now.

So, please come back tomorrow for her post...

The Ice Cream Man (in poetry)

This post came about from a combination of things.  The first was my desire to try my hand at a form of poetry called gogyohka.  For many people the fact that this is a relatively free form without the stricter syllable requirement of haiku or senryu makes this easier to do.  For me, however, I find it harder.  Without the strict requirements my brain has too much wiggle room.  The second thing influencing this post is the novel "Closet Treats" or as I prefer to think of it "The Ice Cream Man" by my dear friend Paul Cooley.  

The first poem is simply for Paul.  The grouping of seven that follows is a poetic interpretation of his work.

‎​You've taught me

the beauty in horror

with your haunting

words.

Thank you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Those loud loud bells

a cacophony

slithering down the street

enticing children

then entrapping them. 

Evil eyes

not quite hidden

acid yellow

swirling crimson

watching you.

Yummy treats

for children

and children

yummy treats

for fiends.

A child runs

terrified

from visions

and a fiend

combined. 

Black talons

slash

ripping innocence

and children

to shreds.

‎​

The loudest scream

is the one

ripped from a throat

never heard

only imagined.

Pain, suffering

strange evil lurking

hero only human

fighting valiantly

but no ending in sight.

Muscle Memory

I just had a really long three day weekend.  Out of the three days I spent almost a full day in my car (22 hours give or take a bit).  Of that time over 18 hours was driving.  I might have had 10 hours of sleep total in during the three days. I have learned (as a result of this weekend) that I shouldn't be behind the wheel for more than 5-6 hours if I am going to be by myself.  That aside, I would do this again in a heartbeat!

I went to a one-day conference called Create South.  Create is an acronym.  It stands for :

C = Carolina

R = Regional

E = Exposition of

A = Art

T = Technology and

E = Education

It is held annually in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

My original motivation to go was to meet some twitter friends in person and maybe learn a few things that might help me with my business.  My secondary motivation was to learn more about this world of writers, podcasters, and tech oriented people that I stumbled upon.

I didn't think of it as a vacation.  I thought of it as "networking" sort of.  I'm terribly shy when it comes to "putting myself out there".  I don't as a general rule go to places where I am not going to know anyone.  I don't get panic attacks but I think I come close.  If I meet someone casually one-on-one then I am fine.  So it was with more than a little trepidation that I made the decision to attend.  It was a spur of the moment sort of decision.  Maybe my subconscious knew I was ready.  I'd like to think that.

I did end up getting together with my twitter friend and found out that they are even better in person.  Most people are but you never know.  I spent most of my time Friday evening talking about art in general and photography specifically.  That first evening all by itself was worth the drive.  I hadn't talked to anyone about artistic choices, motivation, perspective, composition, or really anything concerning the creative process (except writing) in so long that I don't when the last time even was.  I say that I am an artist.  But as is true in athletics it is also true in other things that if you don't use certain muscles they will start to get flabby, to atrophy.  But, once you start using them again they will regain their old strength provided you keep using them.  But the muscle memory is there for the particular sport they were trained in.  Photography is my original sport, artistically.

There were lots of people there from a wide variety of disciplines: writers, podcasters, tech people, artists, and just creative people in general.  People willing to have an open mind.  People looking for others to inspire them.  People looking to inspire others. People wanting to engage each other in discussions and in learning.

These are creative, inventive people.  Many with tech backgrounds.  Self proclaimed "Geeks".  So, it turned out that I was not alone in the nervous area. And, I probably wasn't the shyest person there.

If the two friends I walked into Create South with knew that they were my "security blankets" in terms of knowing someone else there and being able to find them and touch base with them every so often as a means of not feeling like I was drowning in a sea of unfamiliar people, then they didn't let on.  I can't imagine that they were unaware. They're just really good people. That sentence easily describes every person I came in contact with over the weekend.

I realized as I figured out which presentations I was going to attend that I was most interested in finding out about some of the publishing options available.  I had said to my former co-workers that I want to do a book.  A knitting book.  Now I'm not so sure.  I don't know if my heart is really in something like that.  I do know I want to improve as a writer.  I want to create a story.  Not just certain scenes.   So, I got a bunch of information on publishing that is really relevant and very interesting.  Did I talk about my writing?  Not a word.  I'm even having a hard time dealing with talking about it this much, here.

I didn't push myself to come out of my shell while I was there.  It felt like enough of a stretch just to make the leap to go in the first place.  Someone then told me after the fact that I should give one of the presentations next year.  On my yarn.  Or my dying process.  I immediately said that, "No.  That's too much.  Too big a stretch."  

So, I had another discussion, with a different friend today.  About my inability to talk about my writing.  About how I loved talking about art and photography and creativity.  He told me that all of the different creative things I do all come from me.  He made me think.  Maybe it's not about yarn.  Maybe it's not about color. Maybe it's not about photography.  Maybe it's not about art in general.  Maybe it's not about writing poetry or erotica.  Maybe it's about me.  Maybe it's about the creative process I go through regardless of which medium I am working in that day.  Maybe it's about the ADD that seems to be present in so many of the creative people I have met lately.  Maybe it's about learning to function with ADD so that I can be a productive member of society while still keeping those parts of the ADD that make me the creative, scattered, shy to the unknown, uninhibited and open to those I know, crazy person.

Oh, and it was most definitely a vacation.  Never underestimate the power of the ocean to fix something you didn't even know was broken.  The sunshine was a bonus.

I'm already making plans for the trip down next year.  With company in the car.

The Many Roles Art has Played In My Life

I mark the milestones of my life with art.  When I look back at the various ages and stages I have been through there is always some form of art as accompaniment on my soundtrack.  I have been enthralled by, curious about, dabbling in, experimenting with and pursuing art in its many forms as long as I can remember.

At the age of 5  I first asked to take piano lessons.  I played up until about the age of 24 when work and family and finally everything else became bigger priorities.

I drew horses both real and imagined all through elementary school.  

My great-grandmother showed me how to crochet a granny square (and play solitaire) when I was ten.

I was immersed in horses for all of my pre-teen years (drawing, riding, and reading horse stories). I read  (more than once) every book Marguerite Henry (author of  Misty of Chincoteague) and  Walter Farley (author of The Black Stallion) ever wrote.  I figured out how to turn a granny square into a blanket for my model horses by adding chains of stitches to act as the belts that hold a blanket in place.

In my teenage years I taught myself to play the guitar  and played keyboards in a high school band.

I discovered boys early in my teen years.  Flirtation is an art that I excelled in naturally. As an aside there is an expression I heard long ago that rings very true with me.  It is: Girls use sex to get love.  Boys use love to get sex.  Neither is satisfied.

I wrote a lot of poetry in high school and college.  Very heavy on the angst of that period in a young person's life, very light on actual talent or craft.  Lots of whining.  Lots of grand theatrics about trivialities.  But like every person between the ages of 12 and 32 I didn't know what I didn't know.  I was my own person who knew best for me and I know everything so screw it all and get the hell out of my way.

Reading has always been important to me too.  When I was in first grade and my mom came for a parent-teacher conference I was told to wait out in the hall.  They left the door slightly ajar and didn't realize I could hear them.  The teacher told my mom that I would always be a slow reader, below or just at grade level.  I was in the remedial reading group.  The teacher just sort of shrugged her shoulders at the whole of me, what could she do?  It wasn't until four years later when a family friend gave me the first six books in the Nancy Drew series that I began to read.  The books were brand new, the spines hard and firm, they had that 'new book' smell, and Nancy Drew with her pumps and cardigans was so cool.  Then in seventh grade I had the opportunity to take a speed reading class.  I jumped at it.  The memory of my 1st grade teacher's words came rushing up out of my subconscious pushing me to improve myself if only to show her. (note: I have never remembered her name or her face and we moved away from there when I was ten but I have never forgotten her words!). [ Note: Choose your words carefully.  You never know what will stick in someone else's soul and once said, can never be un-said.]

Through my teens and twenties books have always been a huge part of my life.  I haven't read most of the classics but I am OK with that.  I do love Shakespeare (even took a course on the bard when I went to Penn State).  Emily Dickinson, ee cummings, William Blake are among my favorites.  My dad lent me "From Here to Eternity" at the age of thirteen.  The sex scene on the beach was shocking and amazing.  It opened my eyes to the power of words and sexual imagery.  From there he gave me The First Deadly Sin, The Second Deadly Sin, and so on.  I have loved detective stories and cop fiction ever since.  A boyfriend in college insisted I  watch "The Osterman Weekend".  Of course, I then had to read everything Ludlum ever wrote. 

I got hooked on photography in college.  Eventually earning an Associates of Arts and a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degrees in the subject.  The kinds of photography that speak to me the most are documentary, sports, nature, and portraiture.  I love math and science so of all of the arts, photography presses more of my buttons at a single time than anything else.

I combined my fascination with "the boys in blue" and photography while a senior at the Moore College of Art.  I was stumped for a topic for my senior thesis and out of frustation started thumbing through the yellow pages.  I got to the "public safety" section and a lightbulb went off.  I had seen a book of black and white photos taken in New York City where the photographer (sorry, I don't remember the photographer's name or the title) followed NYC beat cops and took some amazing photographs.  I called the Philly police dept and  amazingly they said, "Yes".

That was the coolest 6 months of my life!  I spent the bulk of my time with the mounted unit.  I even rode one of the horses on the lawn in front of Independence Hall!  I also spent a fair amount of time with a K-9 training class.  Then there were the two beat cops who worked "Jeweler's Row".  Maybe now that we have a scanner I will take the time to scan some of those images in...

When my husband and I were still just dating he took me home for that all important panic attack inducing meet-the-parents visit.  I was delighted to find that his mother's obsessions are quilting and cross stitch.   I learned both of these arts from her.  I stopped doing cross stitch out of frustration.  Frustration that I do not have the drawing talent needed to create my own intricate patterns.  Frustration at the necessity of always refering to a pattern (I'm a wing-it kind of person).  And, finally frustration that it aggravated my carpal tunnel syndrome so terribly.  With quilting I know the mechanics but I don't enjoy doing it.  I do, however, enjoy the design process associated with quilts.  Gayle (my MIL) and I are currently finding our way in this area.  She loves the actual making of a quilt but always works from someone else's pattern. So we are a good fit together except that she prefer the much more traditional style of quilts whereas I love quilts that are more modern and abstract.  Oh well, it is just another beginning.

I have gone on and on about knitting, dying, and spinning.  I won't bore you here with more of that.  If that is stuff you don't, in fact, find boring then try this link for my Dyed Bright Here blog.

I am  a HUGE fan of Twitter.  The previously promised post about twitter is still stewing in the back of my brain.  I will serve it up when it is ready....soon.  I have stumbled upon a huge number of writers.  Some of these people actually earn a living (or part of one) with their writing.  But, most pursuit it either as a part time job or just as a hobby they would love to earn a living with.  A few (like me) just find the ability to string together words in such a way as to tell a story, convey emotions, make the reader feel something fascinating to say the least.  Writers use the same words as you and I.  Or should that be you and me?  There is an art and a craft to choosing better words.  The best words.  And putting them together in such a way as to impart feelings.

Lately, I've been writing a lot.  Mostly because I've been forcing myself to.  It reminds me of the time I used to spend sitting at the piano practicing every day.  I had to make myself go through the motions.  The scales.  The arpeggios.  The sonatas.  The etudes.  The preludes.  And then, once or twice a week when I had the time and the inclination, I got to riff.  To just let go and play anything and everything that I wanted.  To create music that fit my mood for the day.  I used to play most of Elton John's greatest hits and they were good for letting go.  Sometimes I just composed on the fly.  Back in the day, we didn't have computerized, digitized keyboards that would take down your work as you played it and put in on the staffs for you.  If I wanted to keep something past it's initial birth I had to memorize it.  Play it over and over again, and painstakingly transcribe it to music paper.  Yea, that didn't happen much at all.  To continue the comparison between practicing the piano and writing everyday, I have found that poetry, specifically haiku, is the type of writing that I can just let loose with.  A sort of written riff.  Something tells me you may be seeing a lot more of that here in the future.