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For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, SAM challenged me with “Use this image for inspiration: http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/discovery.html (Josephine Wall “The Discovery”)” and I challenged Carrie with “Write a haibun (http://raysweb.net/haiku/pages/haibun-definition.html) about summer camp. “
The image in question
I’ve been rowing all night, watching the pearled moon move across the water, enjoying the way the stars traverse their velvet canvas. It’s not until dawn begins to form that I consider heading back home. As the waves go gold with first light, I come upon the cove. There are infinite new days waiting for me, each one brighter and greener than the last. Each one is temping, but the darkness at my back is still illuminating. Different futures dance for me, but soon my present will shine. How can I possibly choose? For even the present has promise.
***
For more about the piece, click below the fold.
The past four weekends were intense. I had Reesa’s memorial service the last weekend of February. The weekend after that was my friend Amanda’s bachelorette party. The weekend after that was Amanda and John’s wedding. And finally, I rounded off four weeks of business with a dance competition in Houston.
Throw in a sick dog last week (he’s doing much better now, thankfully), and by last Friday, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to do anything but relax. I was determined not to do anything all weekend. And I didn’t. Well, at least not by my standards.
By the time Friday evening rolled around, Jon and I were both completely sleep deprived. I had a dance lesson, and then after that, we just hung around the house. I made macaroni and cheese, and then we pretty much just relaxed. We watched Fringe, I worked on poetry, and we went to bed fairly early for once.
On Saturday, I got up and drove to South Austin to go hiking with my friend Melanie and her pug, Lux. Maxwell was supposed to join us, but he still wasn’t 100%. Since he already has social anxiety around other dogs thanks to whatever abuses he faced in his puppyhood, I decided it was best if he stayed home. But I still had fun with Lux, and Melanie and I had a good, long chat. I even remembered my good camera…except discovered too late that I had forgotten to put my memory card in it.
Sculpture Falls, with my cell phone camera. Sorry
Lux is my favorite pug.
After getting back from my hike, I worked on poetry for a bit, and then Jon and I went to Torchy’s. Because it’s not the weekend without tacos. After a grocery run, we spent the rest of the day just chilling out. I worked on poetry and some short stories. Jon worked on music. After dinner, we watched season two of Daria pretty much in one sitting, with a quick break to feed my friend Jerry’s dog. It was the most boring Saturday night I’ve had in a while, and I very much enjoyed it.
On Sunday, I walked Max, and Jon made sweet potato hash for breakfast. After some lazing around the house, we got up, put on some classy clothes, and went to the park. The photos on Jon’s website are from when we first moved to Austin, and his look has changed a bit since then. And I could always use more nice photos of myself. First, we visited the park in our neighborhood, and then we drove down to the creek. To our surprise, Max actually seemed to enjoy the water. Considering his aversion to baths, this was a pleasant surprise.
Jon and Maxwell, looking sharp!
Maxwell getting his bark on.
Jon wanted to know how I managed to hold this pose the entire way down the slide.
After our jaunt, we headed home, where I got even more writing done. (All in all, it was a very creative weekend.) Finally, we topped it off with a visit from our friend Terri, who joined us for the season premiere of Mad Men. I thought it was an excellent episode, and I’m looking forward to seeing what unfolds.
It was nice to spend a weekend mostly at home for once, getting to recharge my batteries. I woke up this morning feeling energized and ready to start my week. I’ve already kicked it off with a poetry acceptance, so it’s definitely off to a good beginning!
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, SAM challenged me with “Rewrite your favorite story.” and I challenged Kirsten Doyle with “Take the opening line from the book you’re reading. Use that somewhere in the middle of your piece.”
***
The house is hungry.
Johnny has gone exploring.
The minotaur waits.
***
For more info on the piece, click below the fold.
What do Julius Caesar and I have in common? We both had pretty bad days on the Idea of March. Of course, his involved getting stabbed to death, so it was worse. Mine (in 2010) just involved a concussion, stitches in my lip (of which I remember every single one, because the anesthetic had worn off, but they weren’t allowed to give me more because I’d already reached my dose limit), and I needed to have my two front teeth replaced (to the tune of about $3,000). But hey! I’m not dead! (Thank you, Allie Brosch, for that fantastic image. Seriously, best blog on the internet.)
So on March 15th, I allow myself the privilege of being sanctimonious. Don’t talk on your cell phone and drive. Don’t text and drive. Because you might make an illegal turn because you’re not paying attention, and hit someone on a scooter. Or a bike. Or on foot. Seriously. Please don’t mess around with your cell phone and driving. People tend to prefer their original teeth intact.
It’s a little bittersweet this year. Reesa was diagnosed with her first round of cancer the same week when I got hit. Last year, we celebrated a year of survival together. It’s sad, this year, to be reminded that she’s not with me. I thought we had a lot more years ahead of us.
Even so, it’s a time for celebrating. Last year, I threw a big party. This year, between my dance partner’s wedding and a competition, I really don’t have time. But Jon and I are going out for a nice dinner, and the competition means I’ll spend the weekend doing what I love most – dancing! There’s no better way to celebrate being Not Dead.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Bewildered Bug challenged me with “Write a piece based on the following quote from V.S. Naipaul: ‘As a child I knew almost nothing, nothing beyond what I had picked up in my grandmother’s house. All children, I suppose, come into the world like that, not knowing who they are.’” and I challenged SAM with “Write a piece in which a character has a conversation with god, using your personal concept of god to define the character — yes, even if you’re an atheist and you believe god is nonexistent.”
Come into the world like that
I.
You can’t grow up spending summers
in suburbia reading about Narnia,
Redwall, Neverland, the Looking Glass,
Middle Earth, Terabithia,
Mount Olympus, Mars,
without wondering whether you
belong in reality.
(And it’s going to take
twenty years
—if you’re lucky—
to find out how
and where and why you do.)
Weekends on the lake
at your grandmother’s cottage
you imagine you’re really
at the ocean, because
you’ve never heard
of a freshwater mermaid
and you want to believe
one is coming for you.
You’re too young to notice
that adults pretend, too—
that family is easy,
that this is the life,
that roughing it is fun.
You’re too young to notice
that you can be forty
and still not know how
to take your place in this world.
II.
One February, when home
feels as frayed as your last nerve,
the Texas sunset spends a week
reminding you that
you found something, that
you write poems making love
to the city, that even though
you’re still a little lost,
you have an anchor here
in the shine of the river,
in your favorite bookstore
in your tiny, overgrown yard,
in the company that keeps you.
You still haven’t tailored
life to the proportions
of your imagination, but
your supplies are scattered
around the house, waiting,
and your heart now waits
for desert mermaids.
***
If you want to read more about the poem, click before the fold
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Jester Queen challenged me with “I’m certain you’re an honest young man. Nonetheless, I need concrete proof before I can make an accusation of that nature” and I challenged Michael with “I’ve got half a mind to destroy the world that destroyed me.”
Pending Investigation
“I’m certain
(Though I keep the lies out of my voice;
I speak in even tones, level out my
words, because the illusion of belief
is what matters here, and I’ll never get
the truth if you’re uncertain about me)
you’re an honest
(Though I don’t know the truth, but
I know it’s not coming from your
tongue. I know that there’s a corpse,
shells that fit your pistol, and that
unlike the person you accuse,
you still don’t have an alibi)
young man. Nonetheless
(Though solving these cases
is in my blood, my breath;
the scent of a rat is always
on my nose, the sound of
a lie is always in my ears.
Are you stupid? What are
trying to pull? Do you know
who you’re talking to?)
before I can make
(Before I could even begin
to pretend that any word
from your mouth could be
believed, that the stench of
crime doesn’t hang in a cloud
above your head, that the person
you accuse hasn’t already
been cleared of all suspicion)
an accusation of that kind.”
(I can hardly wait to hear
how you talk your way
through this mess)
***
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February didn’t feel all that productive at the beginning, but I was working at a pretty good clip at the end. Here’s what I accomplished:
- Wrote 31 poems
- Submitted 11 poems
- Submitted my chapbook manuscript twice
- Finished the February stage of my ghostwriting project
- Attended both February Wingbeats workshops
- Went through my fiction folder and organized all the prose drafts in various stages of completeness, and made progress revising some of them.
I did not:
- Complete a draft of a prose piece
- Finish revisions to my epic poem. However, I at least have a good reason for that. While attempting to revise, I realized that the draft was more of a practice piece. After reading Bryce Milligan’s Alms for Oblivion, I realized what my epic poem could be, and that the draft I had written was not working toward that ultimate goal. That was more like a long prewriting session. I’ve decided to trunk the epic poem for March and return to it in April. Making progress on the new version of that piece will be my goal for National Poetry Month.
Here’s what’s on the docket for March:
- Continue my regular write/revise/submit practice
- Finish a first draft of a fiction piece
- Continue to make progress on my list of fiction-in-progress
- Do reading and brainstorming for the epic poem, so I’ll be ready with ideas when April arrives
- Finish my poetry table project
I’m tempted to add more goals, but March is going to be a busy month for my non-writing life as well. My dance partner is getting married, and I’m a bridesmaid (plus I’m organizing his fianceé’s bachelorette party). And the weekend after that, I have a dance competition. So the first three weekends of March are booked solid. So I’ve probably planned enough.
Wow. I got a lot of reading done in February.
Voices by Lucille Clifton
Blue Nights by Joan Didion
Babel by Barbara Hamby (re-read)
Betty Superman by Tiff Holland
Alms for Oblivion by Bryce Milligan
The Paris Review Interviews: Women Writers at Work, edited by George Plimpton
Poets and Writers March/April 2012 (not finished)
Southern Women’s Review Volume 5 (which, if you’ll remember, includes my work!)
Tin House 12.4 (finished after starting in January)
Sum of It All by K.B. Whitley
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Sherree challenged me with “There were monkeys everywhere, and that wasn’t a good thing.” and I challenged SAM with “Write a piece in which a can of soda is of significant importance.”
There Are Monkeys Everywhere
The monkeys still jump on the bed,
and the sight fills me with dread.
When a monkey bumps its head
another comes to take its stead.
They’ve been jumping years, it seems.
This must be the stuff of dreams:
The flying fur, the high-pitched screams.
The bed is full; the mattress teems
with tails, and teeth, and screeching sounds.
A massive presence which confounds,
for when a monkey hits the ground,
there is one more to be found.
I have tried to get them out.
At first I’d raise my voice and shout.
But it seems I have no clout;
they’d ignore me, dance about.
Then I tried to call the zoo.
Surely they’d know what to do.
But, alas, that was not true.
The monkeys made fools of them, too.
Now I stand and watch them dance,
watch them turn, watch them prance.
I try to oust with pleading glance,
but I don’t seem to have a chance.
Despite my tricks, they don’t disperse.
The problem seems to just grow worse.
I wonder where I got this curse
which I now describe in verse.
The monkeys still jump on the bed,
and the sight fills me with dread.
When a monkey bumps its head
another comes to take its stead.
****
Interested in knowing more about the piece? Click below the jump.
