Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
What it is, is, it's like you're in a room with all your friends and you can see them, but they can't see you, but you're right there, standing in the middle of the room... But you're invisible.
Kind of like when Harry Potter wears that cape.
Sometimes, I wonder if it is possible to be invisible in real life without the help of a magical cloak or a setting on a computer screen. Eh, I don't wonder, I know.
I am still waiting on responses from about 25 submissions. I am wondering if some of these places have simply forgotten all about me.
Because at least a rejection acknowledges the attempt to be heard.
But no word from these journals only brings fear of either a flood of no's,
a flood of silence.
Sometimes, when I'm riding the train home from work and a fellow passenger's elbow is knocking my forehead with no notice or care, I try to seek my reflection in the window of the train. The thing is, I never seem to recognize the face looking back. Because it is never steady, lost everytime the train goes by a light or stops in a station or goes above ground. It makes me curious. It makes me ill. It makes me feel like I'm going to throw up my lungs.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Washed a sink-full of dishes.
Paid my bills. (still paying for the ears, friends, still paying for the ears)
Did some Quickies! emailing
Read an article about Barack Obama.
Sewed two placemats:
And I stood around thinking about a couple of stories that I've been meaning to sit down and write for a while.
I swear, it feels like there's a wall in my brain that won't let me sit down and write. Stories are developing in my brain, but when I sit down to write, I remember that I need to iron a skirt that I may want to wear tomorrow. And I need to pack a lunch. And Bob could use a cuddle. Or, gosh, isn't it nice to daydream? Or, hey!, a new episode of "Forensic Files" is on!
I am not a writer. I am a slacker. The end.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to read DListed.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The crowd was awesome, a really good size actually! And the readers were all Kick Ass!
Find out more about Quickies! Here.
Last night, I read this:
And when this city gets too old for us. Too dirty and dark and cold for us, we'll hop in my red Ford Escort hatchback and drive. We'll drive in circles around the edges of this town, moving farther and farther out while we give names to the shapes that trees make up against a sapphire sky. We'll name the moon as it falls under the horizon and bounces back up again. Our circles will get bigger and broader and we'll drive over forests and lakes, until this red Ford Escort hatchback batters itself over tundra and desert on the same trip around.
We'll drink Big Gulps and eat so many Pringles that our sides will hurt and we'll groan and whine and stick our heads out the windows like spoiled, yet charming and adorable dogs, our tongues waving in the wind, saliva splattering the sides of the car. We'll listen to a mix tape that I made special for this road trip. We'll count the miles on the speedometer, doing a cheer every time the number clicks to some thousand until our circles will get so big, we're out of miles and we'll find ourselves orbiting the planet like our own little rusty and dented satellite of love. Our circles will keep getting bigger and we'll break the bounds of gravity that kept us revolving around our boring and stagnant home.
And then, my red Ford Escort hatchback will shoot straight out and we will go over the moon and into Outer Space where there is no dark. Instead of being surrounded by night, the way the pictures in "National Geographic" make it feel, we will be surrounded by light. By various versions of exploding light and light dust and light rain and broken light debris scattered all over the place. And Outer Space isn't cold, like you'd think. There is a warmth that tickles your skin all over. It's like being on the beach all the time. Only instead of being tanned by one sun, we'll get all cozy and cocooned in the warmth of millions of stars. And you wouldn't know this unless you've been there, but Space smells like fresh-baked cookies and there's this constant song that plays, like a flute or a bird, always singing. We'll turn my Ford Escort hatchback and try to find the source of the sound. And along the way, we'll stop at planets of various sizes to take a leak and take in the view. And we'll write our names in the cosmic dirt so the whole universe will know we were there.
We'll drive that Ford Escort hatchback out and out, farther and farther out. And we'll gather the stars in the palms of our hands like crystal white sand. Like the sand in Greece. Is that the place? I've never been, but I hear the sand is white and the water is clear, so clear you can see all the way to the bottom of the sea like your looking through liquid glass. And we'll hold those grain sized stars in our hands and while we sift them through our fingers, we'll look all the way through the universe, clean and crystal clear, and we'll see some billion years in the future when the moon, our moon, our favorite bedtime story moon, that moon finally breaks it's orbit around the Earth and shoots around the galaxy like it's a pinball machine gone out of control and we'll be there to see it all and it will be awesome.
Monday, March 03, 2008
I still have my grandpa's cardigan. I have had this cardigan for 20 years. It used to have an argyle pattern on the front, but the color of the yarn has faded and now the whole sweater is a soft charcoal grey and you have to look real close to see the argyle diamonds. There are patches on the elbows and a hole is developing along the seam of one of the patches. The ribbing at the wrists is coming undone. The buttons have fallen off. I wear this cardigan when it is cold in my apartment and I need something to keep me extra warm. The cardigan is made of wool. It kind of itches and it isn't very comfortable. I don't wear it as much as I used to.
I have a pin that looks like a ribbon tied into a multi-looped bow. The pin has small jewels that make it sparkle. It used to belong to my grandma. I never met her. I know she was very pretty and very nice. She had a great big smile. My mom also has a great big smile. I used to wear the pin on the lapel of my jacket. But I don't wear it anymore, I keep it in a dish with other pins and buttons because I don't want to lose it.
My grandmother talked slow. I remember the way she moved. Smooth but at the pace of something like molasses. I have never seen molasses move. Her voice was high, almost nervous. Her speech moved at the same pace as her body. I remember visiting her house shortly after my grandpa died. We were having oatmeal for breakfast. She asked my brother if he wanted brown sugar on his oatmeal. He said, "No, thank you," but she had already started sprinkling the sugar on his breakfast. So she just kind of shrugged and kept sprinkling.