Category Archives: writing about writing

October 1, 2012 · 4:12 pm

nightmare fuel 2012…

It’s October! I happen to really love this time of year. When I was little, I wasn’t allowed to trick-or-treat or participate in many Halloween type activities. My family opted for harvest parties and non-spooky costumes. (Which I’m totally fine with, by the way. My parents were good parents and awesome people and they made what they thought were the best decisions for me in my childhood, and I respect that.) So, I’m not sure if it is repressed childish glee seeping out, or if I would have been just as enthusiastic for the season had I been a Halloween participant as a child as well, but I do know that I am a Halloween fan.

Last year I participated in something called Nightmare Fuel. I posted my contributions to Tumblr in order to not scare my friends and readers who are not into spooky things, and this year I plan on doing the same thing. That being said, I also plan on posting a haiku or limerick based on my Nightmare Fuel post on this blog. That will keep most of the creepy over there, but also keep this place hopping through the month.

There! Housekeeping done. Now, because you put up with this long post about pretty much nothing, here is a (kind of blurry, sorry I need a real camera or scanner) picture I drew! Jenna said she could tell it was me because of the glasses and bat wings…

Image

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March 13, 2012 · 6:22 pm

today’s bits of truth…

I’m going to learn to code. I get that I’m a nerd. I know that if I was in high school, someone would be gearing up to give me a wedgie followed by a swirlie right about now, and I just don’t care. I’ve wanted to learn to code for a while now, and when my friend Andrea brought this site to my attention (http://codeyear.com/) I couldn’t resist jumping on the opportunity. Crossing my fingers it goes well!

I’m going to download The Handmaid’s Tale on my Nook because I want to read it again and I’m not sure where my paper copy is. It’s in storage, I know that much, but who knows which box?

I cut off my hair. I think it was around 8 or 9 inches. I had a lot of it before and I felt pretty good about if for a long time, but I decided I needed something edgier. I’m not sure what I got was edgy or not, but it is for sure shorter. It’s also purple. I like purple. It’s one of the only colors that I can stand in large quantities.

I have a new notebook to do some writing in. I’m in love with it. It has lined pages for poetry and whatnot, and it has blank pages for doodles when I feel the urge to be artsy. New notebooks make me incredibly happy.

This weekend I went out for a few drinks with my friend Bekah to Pengilly’s. It was great. There was live music and super cheap drinks. After hanging out til about 10:30 (because I’m super old and that’s about my limit…) we went on a walk back to her house and it was super nice outside and it made me want spring to GET HERE NOW! We’re gonna do it again. I’m glad her husband doesn’t mind me stealing her away every now and then.

I’ve been writing more. I like that. Writing makes me feel whole. That coupled with this whole telling the truth about myself thing has me flying high.

It’s been a good few weeks. I realized today while sitting at my MOMS group that I’m content and happy. I figure that’s a good thing, and I’m just going to roll with it…

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February 22, 2012 · 12:32 am

nothing really…

What is there to say? Nothing really.

Sometimes you come to that point. The point where everything looks a little less colorful and you suddenly realize that you are slipping slowly into the past. the trees take on shades of grey that you had forgotten about, and you know that you have left reality. In the background, you can hear notes floating up into the air. Ella’s voice takes flight over the trees and fills your senses. This is the way it was, but not really the way it was. It’s the way it is in movies and books, but when it was reality, it was its own fantasy. People were not any different. Time was not any different. There was no more romance then than there is now. It’s fake, but still the place you go to in order to escape. It’s fake, but it is more real than anything else you hold on to.

What is there to say? Everything…

The words flow through my head and find solace in my fingers as they fly across the keys. My brain screams and sings and begs for release. I tell myself that if I do not get it out, I will cease to exist. I tell myself that I must move on. I must fight silence. I must yell out at the top of my lungs. “Stop ignoring me! Stop telling me that I am useless and unworthy!” I’m yelling at no one. I’m yelling at everyone. I’m yelling at myself. I notice that the screen in front of me is out of focus. I reach out towards it a moment before I realize that it isn’t the screen, but my eyes. The moisture falling from my face and onto the keyboard makes me pause and take a breath. I stop screaming and turn away.

What is there to say? It has all been said before.

There are times when one must sit motionless. Breathing makes too much noise. It is all an interruption. The clicking of keys would be intolerable. The ineffectual niggling of thoughts causes a buzzing that fills the air and creates a sense unease. It is all too much. Anything that comes out at this point, any bit of consciousness, is more than is necessary. There is nothing that one can say now that has not already been uttered. There is nothing but the old, there is no more new. So, it is time to remain silent and still. It is time to let the world go on, and to feel the fresh air on skin– to know that nothing is the same, but that nothing can be different.

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September 19, 2011 · 1:09 am

the need to say something…

Every now and then I run out of words. It doesn’t happen too often. After all, words are my life (as well as my livelihood).

Tonight I am out of words. Tonight I am not sleeping. I’m watching bad TV on Hulu and knitting.

Since I have nothing I can say, I’ll let Margaret speak for me:

“So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it’s the hardest to do anything with. That’s about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.”

(Oh, I want to be her when I grow up!)

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September 14, 2011 · 12:58 am

this is probably not wonderland…

A long time ago, my blog had a slightly different name. Well, the same name really, but with a little tag line under it.

Rantings of a Semi-Crazy Blonde Girl: let’s take a little trip down the rabbit hole, shall we?

I have always fancied myself an Alice. From the time I was little, I went to extravagant lands with incredible creatures, and I went to them with only the aid of my sometimes troublesome imagination. The rabbit hole in my mind is twisting and expansive. Around one turn is utter darkness, and around the next is the happiest of sunny afternoons. When I sit down to write, I never know which tunnel I will fall down. I never know if I should be packing a beach towel, an umbrella, or some sort of self-defense device. Often, I pray that the knitting needles in my back left pocket and the pen in the back right will be sufficient and I just roll with whatever punches are thrown my way. It seems that what I think of as my best work is done when I have absolutely no idea what to do. It happens when the tunnel I am tripping through takes a sudden jag to the left and my being is torn to the side, ripped from one reality and into the next.

Of course, the rabbit hole is not all about my writing, it is also about how people perceive me. There was a point in my life when I was forced to recognize that I was not, shall we say, normal. I am an odd duck, to be sure, and I understand that. My madness seeps out of every fiber and I have noticed through the years that this makes many people uncomfortable. However, as I have aged, I have come to terms with myself. In fact, I now realize that the more me I am and the more I just let the crazy out, the better off I am, the more people accept me, the more I feel at peace.

—

(just a bit of bonus poetry that popped into my head while doing laundry the other day…)

If I told you that tomorrow was the last day,
would you leave? Or would you stay
for one last kiss,
and one last moment in the dark.
Would you walk away forever?
Or would you hold me tighter
for one more time,
and one more night of me and you.
If I asked you not to go,
would you hold my hand again
and wait until the very last second
of the end for one last kiss.

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