writing and being

My writer’s block-busting exercise becomes a block in itself when I want to write standard “hey this is what’s in my head” entries. So here goes with one of those, long overdue. For the past few weeks, no small amount of my spare brain-cycles have been spent focusing on the question of what I do next with my life, career-wise. After receiving two graduate school application rejections — what a fantastic economic period for this process — I have questioned whether this is the right thing for me to focus on while my writing lies stagnant. Not that I would ever ditch my day job for the promise of a future as a writer; I am far too attached to my current standard of living, and all of my major financial decisions impact not only...

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Posted on 19 Jul 2009 | 4 comments

zanzibar

Ken was one of my first friends at my last job. When we met, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that, in addition to being a bright and competent coworker, he is a talented musician. I, however, am an untalented videographer. Perhaps you will be able to look past this to enjoy one of my favorite songs by Ken, “Zanzibar”, performed at SoCha Café. [I haven't forgotten about my writer's block-bustin'...

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Posted on 18 Jul 2009 | Comments Off

say goodbye

say goodbye

part-time Originally uploaded by cygnoir She unfolded the piece of paper and read. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your laugh is like a flock of finches taking flight. Everyone I know thinks you are kind and clever. I was going to kiss you at the end of our date but we’d just met and I didn’t want you to think that I was rushing it.” With a widening smile, she paused to savor the ripple of bubbles in her stomach, then read on. “You are so perfect for me in every way, but this part doesn’t last. This is the gloaming, that golden light in which everyone looks like movie stars. Soon you’ll be annoyed by my smirk, my lack of guile. Or you won’t, you’ll love me and we’ll live...

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Posted on 12 Jul 2009 | 3 comments

timid animal

I apologize for the lack of posts this week. On Monday I had a king-sized headache, and on Tuesday I took photographs instead. Back to our regularly-scheduled busting of writer’s block! This prose poem is courtesy of my spam folder. “Too busy to go back to school?” she huffed, dangling the highball glass between thumb and ring-finger. Ice cubes clacked. “I should have seen it coming.” And with that I remembered why I hated her, that slick brow over flat eyes. She went to wakes but never funerals, something about the smell of turned earth, of coffins. I was a replica watch on her wrist, telling time while never knowing how late it was. “You can trick the nature and make a monster of your timid animal.” I fantasized about...

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Posted on 8 Jul 2009 | 1 comment

domestic life

“Hello? O, hi, Cheryl. No, I’m not busy, just working on the kids’ bedroom at the moment. You know, the same old thing, cat walked through and wrecked the whole left edge. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with what I’m given, Cheryl. I just don’t know. You know Stan, always promising we’ll move out to the back yard, but when he says it half his eyes aren’t even looking at me, you know what I mean? I’m beginning to think we’re stranded here in this miserable place with no windows and an overachieving cat. Cheryl? Cheryl, let me call you back. I think the Person is home, so I need to pick up the kids from the faucet and hide behind the TV. I’ll call you later, honey. Okay,...

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Posted on 5 Jul 2009 | Comments Off

being three

being three

Something I am learning from this exercise: the prompts often launch me in a completely different direction. I wonder what that’s about. I am reading a book called “How to Be an Adult in Relationships: The Five Keys to Mindful Loving” by David Richo, and this passage struck me today: Childhood forces influence present choices, for the past is on a continuum with the present. Early business that is still unfinished does not have to be a sign of immaturity; rather, it can signal continuity. Recurrence of childhood themes in adult relationships gives our life depth in that we are not superficially passing over life events but inhabiting them fully as they evolve. Our past becomes a problem only when it leads to a compulsion to repeat our losses or...

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Posted on 4 Jul 2009 | 2 comments

salad days

Despite all the wonderful prompts, this poem did not originate from one; it has been rolling around in my head all day, and must be let out. garnish me with more than green side to side start with white plate blue eyes flutter lashes long and cautious where do I find you fresh and warm crisp or wilted fingers grasp for past shredded hearts dressed with time [Less than 100 words, but that's where it wanted to end. Want to help me bust through my writer's block this month? Read about this exercise!]

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Posted on 3 Jul 2009 | Comments Off

beards

This one from abecedarius surprised me, simply: “beards.” I woke up with one clear thought: pain. My face hurt; my lips were being pulled back from my teeth in a jack o’ lantern sneer. Opening one eye, I reached up to my lips and felt tiny hands. “Hey, asshole,” someone very far away said. “Where’s the fridge in this place?” My feet smacked bare tile of the bathroom floor before I realized that I was out of bed. The clock radio flipped on; agitated yet polished voices collided into one another. I didn’t want to look in the mirror. The head and torso of a small angry man protruded from my beard. He seemed to be flipping my reflection off with fingers too small to see. The radio announcer said a word that...

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Posted on 2 Jul 2009 | 1 comment

slate and stove

Today’s blockbuster prompt is from Davmoo: “Please write 100 words on …your favorite childhood memory.” The wood stove in our living room was surrounded by pieces of slate. Old radiators kept the corners of the other rooms warm, but the wood stove, the old general, boomed forth waves of heat well into winter nights. Cats curled up to it as close as they dared. My parents each tended the fire in such an unassuming way while working on their other projects, another grownup ability that I found quietly glamorous. During nights spent around the stove, I would write and draw on the slate pieces with chalk while the three of us listened to albums of classical music. To this day, whenever I hear Satie’s Gymnopédies, I feel safe. [Want to...

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Posted on 1 Jul 2009 | 4 comments