2010 was Year of the Newlywed
Had a blast. Came out surprisingly unbitter.
2011 was Year of Full (Appropriate) Disclosure
It took some adjusting, especially while learning what constituted "appropriate."
I've decided to make 2012 Year of the Poem
I'm going to write (what amounts to) a poem a day with the hopes that at least 10 of them will be good. I've tried this during Lent for a couple of years, and it worked out pretty well. For the most part. My current roommate does NaNoWriMo and meets with a group of people every Saturday. I'm hoping this will be good motivation for me to go with her at least occassionally to type up what I write and fine tune the ones with potential.
I'd also like to read more poetry, but I'm not quite sure how to incorporate that into my reading "program." For those of you unfamiliar with my reading "program" or "cycle" here it is:
Something Old (a classic)
Something New (within the past 3 years)
Something Random (typically re-reads, YA books or stuff that doesn't fit any other category)
Something True (not fiction)
But the thing about poetry is that it varies much more in length than books. I can't pledge a poem a day. A haiku is not the same as the Faerie Queen. I thought about setting my goal at a poet a month, but there's no real standard for that, either. Basically, setting a quantified poetry reading goal is impossible. The best I can come up with is to read a poem every time I finish a book.
Which, now that I think about it, doesn't sound that bad.
Suggestions welcome. But please make them here.
2011-12-20
2011-12-12
Writing Journal
Hoarfrost Haiku
You know what? What I
think I thought was snowfall was
hoarfrost falling down.
If you don't want any backstory; stop reading.
If you want just a little, skip to the end. (I'll bold it for you.)
Long ago backstory:
I have a friend with whom I have an inside running (I guess you could call it a) joke about the word "hoarfrost." It reared it's head 3 times in one month's time a few years ago and he took a really awesome picture of some during that time.
More backstory:
At one point, he asked if I remembered where in the scriptures the word was used. I searched my notes diligently. I remembered the time of the year it first came about, but must have run out of notebooks because I didn't take very in-depth notes. We were pretty sure it was in the Doctrine & Covenants and I thought it was in a particular place on a page so I leafed through. I was really spending a lot of time on something so silly, so I gave up and went to bed.
The next day, he came to visit me and I told him about a dream I had the night before. Well, one of them. I think I had like 4 that night. Anyway, one of the dreams was just an image of my scriptures opened and seeing the heading for Section 121 of the Doctrine & Covenants. Now, as any believer will tell you, if you get a dream that specific about a scripture, you had better read it! There, in verse 11, was the word "hoarfrost."
My friend's reaction was "He gives you a specific scripture to answer a question, and that's the one He chooses?" Yeah. I guess so. To me, it serves as proof God loves His children, even in the little things. Here He was, providing me an answer (in a way He knew I would understand and know to be from Him) to a question so trivial I hadn't even bothered asking about it.
Least amount of Backstory:
My friend texted me (just as I was thinking about him, which my friends have to stop doing; it freaks me out) on Saturday morning, telling me there was hoarfrost. So I started looking for it as I continued the walk I had barely started. It looked like the tree branches had some snowfall on them, which seemed to be verified by some white flakes drifting down, ever so lightly. I texted back as much; it was just a light snowfall far as I could tell.
Then I looked up and saw some tall tree branches a few blocks away and decided maybe it could be hoarfrost after all. So I took a closer look and decided that what I thought was snowfall was really the hoarfrost falling off the trees, since it was about 10, 10:30.
As I tried to get my message as close to 160 characters (and knowing an immediate response wasn't neccesarily expected), I came up with this:
You know what? What I think I thought was snowfall was really just the hoarfrost falling from the trees. Like tree dandruff.
I thought it was rather poetic, but, really, where can you go with that?
Haiku-land, that's where.
You know what? What I
think I thought was snowfall was
hoarfrost falling down.
If you don't want any backstory; stop reading.
If you want just a little, skip to the end. (I'll bold it for you.)
Long ago backstory:
I have a friend with whom I have an inside running (I guess you could call it a) joke about the word "hoarfrost." It reared it's head 3 times in one month's time a few years ago and he took a really awesome picture of some during that time.
More backstory:
At one point, he asked if I remembered where in the scriptures the word was used. I searched my notes diligently. I remembered the time of the year it first came about, but must have run out of notebooks because I didn't take very in-depth notes. We were pretty sure it was in the Doctrine & Covenants and I thought it was in a particular place on a page so I leafed through. I was really spending a lot of time on something so silly, so I gave up and went to bed.
The next day, he came to visit me and I told him about a dream I had the night before. Well, one of them. I think I had like 4 that night. Anyway, one of the dreams was just an image of my scriptures opened and seeing the heading for Section 121 of the Doctrine & Covenants. Now, as any believer will tell you, if you get a dream that specific about a scripture, you had better read it! There, in verse 11, was the word "hoarfrost."
My friend's reaction was "He gives you a specific scripture to answer a question, and that's the one He chooses?" Yeah. I guess so. To me, it serves as proof God loves His children, even in the little things. Here He was, providing me an answer (in a way He knew I would understand and know to be from Him) to a question so trivial I hadn't even bothered asking about it.
Least amount of Backstory:
My friend texted me (just as I was thinking about him, which my friends have to stop doing; it freaks me out) on Saturday morning, telling me there was hoarfrost. So I started looking for it as I continued the walk I had barely started. It looked like the tree branches had some snowfall on them, which seemed to be verified by some white flakes drifting down, ever so lightly. I texted back as much; it was just a light snowfall far as I could tell.
Then I looked up and saw some tall tree branches a few blocks away and decided maybe it could be hoarfrost after all. So I took a closer look and decided that what I thought was snowfall was really the hoarfrost falling off the trees, since it was about 10, 10:30.
As I tried to get my message as close to 160 characters (and knowing an immediate response wasn't neccesarily expected), I came up with this:
You know what? What I think I thought was snowfall was really just the hoarfrost falling from the trees. Like tree dandruff.
I thought it was rather poetic, but, really, where can you go with that?
Haiku-land, that's where.
2011-12-01
Reading Journal
I finished this year's reading of O! Pioneers in the gym while trying (but failing) to help my team win the cardio challenge. Every year I read it, I find myself identifying with different characters or situations than I did the last time. This year, it was the Emil-Marie relationship I found most parallelling my own. Granted, not everything aligns up perfectly and I've discovered it's possible to feel a connection to characters with seemingly opposing points of view.
Without getting into much detail, either personal or plot related, here are a couple of selections affirming my parallel.
"She sighed despondently. "Everything I say makes you cross, don't it? And you never used to be cross to me."
Emil took a step nearer and stood frowning down at her bent head. He stood in an attitude of self-defense, his feet well apart, his hands clenched and drawn up at his sides, so that the cords stood out on his bare arms. "I can't play with you like a little boy any more," he said slowly. "That's what you miss, Marie. You'll have to get some other little boy to play with." He stopped and took a deep breath. Then he went on in a low tone, so intense that it was almost threatening: "Sometimes you seem to understand perfectly, and then sometimes you pretend you don't. You don't help things anyby pretending. It's then that I want to pull the corners of the Divide together. If you won't understand, you know, I could make you!"
Marie clasped her hands and started up from her seat. She had grown very pale and her eyes were shining with excitement and distress. "But, Emil, if I understand, then all our good times are over, we can never do nice things together any more....And, anyhow, there's nothing to understand!" She struck the ground with her little foot fiercely. "That won't last. It will go away, and things will be just as they used to....I pray for you, but that's not the same as if you prayed for yourself."
...
"I can't pray to have the things I want," he said slowly, "and I won't pray not to have them, not if I'm damned for it."
p.80
"When she reached the stile she sat down and waited. How terrible it was to love people when you could not really share in their lives!"
p. 131
And, as always, I reccomend this book to everyone who enjoys reading. It's an easy read, pretty light, a good balance of exposition and dialogue and I have the most amazing time with character analysis while reading this. Cather really gets a grip on this, and it's why she's probably the closest thing I have to a favorite author.
Without getting into much detail, either personal or plot related, here are a couple of selections affirming my parallel.
"She sighed despondently. "Everything I say makes you cross, don't it? And you never used to be cross to me."
Emil took a step nearer and stood frowning down at her bent head. He stood in an attitude of self-defense, his feet well apart, his hands clenched and drawn up at his sides, so that the cords stood out on his bare arms. "I can't play with you like a little boy any more," he said slowly. "That's what you miss, Marie. You'll have to get some other little boy to play with." He stopped and took a deep breath. Then he went on in a low tone, so intense that it was almost threatening: "Sometimes you seem to understand perfectly, and then sometimes you pretend you don't. You don't help things anyby pretending. It's then that I want to pull the corners of the Divide together. If you won't understand, you know, I could make you!"
Marie clasped her hands and started up from her seat. She had grown very pale and her eyes were shining with excitement and distress. "But, Emil, if I understand, then all our good times are over, we can never do nice things together any more....And, anyhow, there's nothing to understand!" She struck the ground with her little foot fiercely. "That won't last. It will go away, and things will be just as they used to....I pray for you, but that's not the same as if you prayed for yourself."
...
"I can't pray to have the things I want," he said slowly, "and I won't pray not to have them, not if I'm damned for it."
p.80
"When she reached the stile she sat down and waited. How terrible it was to love people when you could not really share in their lives!"
p. 131
And, as always, I reccomend this book to everyone who enjoys reading. It's an easy read, pretty light, a good balance of exposition and dialogue and I have the most amazing time with character analysis while reading this. Cather really gets a grip on this, and it's why she's probably the closest thing I have to a favorite author.
2011-11-15
Writing Journal
I had an experience a while ago that, even as it was happening, seemed slightly surreal. Perhaps it was like deja vu, except I don't think I had ever had this experience before. Since it was something that could have happened in the past, it was almost as though I were living the memory of a fantasy. If that makes sense.
What I first found odd about the 15 minute experience was how much of it I remembered later. Hours afterwards, I was talking to someone and briefly (in a line or two) summized the experience. As I was speaking, it all came back to me. Every moment of those minutes was accounted for in my memory.
Perhaps stranger is that I kind of have this visual of the experience. I can see the lightness that was in my step, as it was a very pleasant experience. I can also see the other characters, if you will, and their faces. I might even venture to say that I was aware of those things during the experience itself. Part of me wants to use this as a scene in a story, as it was rather something like out of a Jane Austen novel (and I've been almost immersed in Austenian stories as of late between books and movies). In fact, it rather reminds me of a particular scene in Sense and Sensibility.
But I feel it would become less real somehow.
Even the journal entry I made about it and the vagueness with which I have been using here casts shadows upon it. It has left me questioning whether or not I can cast aside the sentimentality of my appreciation for the experience and dilute it by sharing it in writing.
I just thought of a similar experience I had some time before this one. I spun that scene into words, taking some creative liberties with the facts, and shared it with some friends, all hopes for feedback being dashed. The first experience (and the most recent in my life) could actually do a good deal of good as backstory for the experienced I've already turned into a short short.
Perhaps life is just handing me one or two experiences every so often, intending a story to be told.
What I first found odd about the 15 minute experience was how much of it I remembered later. Hours afterwards, I was talking to someone and briefly (in a line or two) summized the experience. As I was speaking, it all came back to me. Every moment of those minutes was accounted for in my memory.
Perhaps stranger is that I kind of have this visual of the experience. I can see the lightness that was in my step, as it was a very pleasant experience. I can also see the other characters, if you will, and their faces. I might even venture to say that I was aware of those things during the experience itself. Part of me wants to use this as a scene in a story, as it was rather something like out of a Jane Austen novel (and I've been almost immersed in Austenian stories as of late between books and movies). In fact, it rather reminds me of a particular scene in Sense and Sensibility.
But I feel it would become less real somehow.
Even the journal entry I made about it and the vagueness with which I have been using here casts shadows upon it. It has left me questioning whether or not I can cast aside the sentimentality of my appreciation for the experience and dilute it by sharing it in writing.
I just thought of a similar experience I had some time before this one. I spun that scene into words, taking some creative liberties with the facts, and shared it with some friends, all hopes for feedback being dashed. The first experience (and the most recent in my life) could actually do a good deal of good as backstory for the experienced I've already turned into a short short.
Perhaps life is just handing me one or two experiences every so often, intending a story to be told.
2011-11-14
Reading Journal
Finished "Jane and Cassandra" over the weekend.
It's a historical fiction about the relationship between Jane and Cassandra Austen. Had I had more biographical facts myself, I would have been able to tell that the events were real, but that the opinions of them were not. (Although, the narrative surrounding Mr. Atkins remains a mystery to me.) I finished the weekend by watching the Pride & Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly and learned that the cast portraying the Bennett family played Sardines in the house before the crew got there so they could learn the layout and take ownership of it before cameras invaded. I also watched Sense & Sensibility with the Ang Li and other director's commentary. All I retained from that viewing (which I didn't pay much attention to, honestly, because they sort of wore themselves out towards the end and it was just the movie playing) was that they used period animals. The commentators were constantly interjecting, "Period sheep!" It was actually quite entertaining.
I've picked up O! Pioneers, which I plan on reading mostly in the gym. Am hoping to finish it before I get on the bus home for Thanksgiving. I also pulled a book off my shelf called Memory Wall: Stories by Anothony Doerr, who, according to the jacket cover, is the writer in residence of Idaho. I haven't actually read more than the cover, though. Bought it when Borders was going out of business.
It's a historical fiction about the relationship between Jane and Cassandra Austen. Had I had more biographical facts myself, I would have been able to tell that the events were real, but that the opinions of them were not. (Although, the narrative surrounding Mr. Atkins remains a mystery to me.) I finished the weekend by watching the Pride & Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly and learned that the cast portraying the Bennett family played Sardines in the house before the crew got there so they could learn the layout and take ownership of it before cameras invaded. I also watched Sense & Sensibility with the Ang Li and other director's commentary. All I retained from that viewing (which I didn't pay much attention to, honestly, because they sort of wore themselves out towards the end and it was just the movie playing) was that they used period animals. The commentators were constantly interjecting, "Period sheep!" It was actually quite entertaining.
I've picked up O! Pioneers, which I plan on reading mostly in the gym. Am hoping to finish it before I get on the bus home for Thanksgiving. I also pulled a book off my shelf called Memory Wall: Stories by Anothony Doerr, who, according to the jacket cover, is the writer in residence of Idaho. I haven't actually read more than the cover, though. Bought it when Borders was going out of business.
2011-10-28
Reading Journal
I finished Lance Armstrong's autobiography last night. Have I mentioned I've grown to like sports writers? Don't know what it is....I don't particularly care for playing or watching them, but I find reading about them just fascinating.
Anyway...it was pretty good, although somewhat outdated (2000). A bit more cussing than I cared for, but the bits about the racing were exciting. He has an extreme personality (tell me something from Texas that isn't extreme, though) and it made for a fascinating read.
I look forward to starting O! Pioneers a little sooner this year than I have in other years. Oh, well. If I try putting it off for another cycle, I'm afraid I'll be too late.
Anyway...it was pretty good, although somewhat outdated (2000). A bit more cussing than I cared for, but the bits about the racing were exciting. He has an extreme personality (tell me something from Texas that isn't extreme, though) and it made for a fascinating read.
I look forward to starting O! Pioneers a little sooner this year than I have in other years. Oh, well. If I try putting it off for another cycle, I'm afraid I'll be too late.
2011-10-14
Reading Journal
I finished "Not Dead Yet" and "So I'm Talkin' to This Guy..." last night.
Both were decent. Not I'd-Rather-Give-Myself-a-Swirly boring, but not exactly enthralling, either. "Not Dead Yet" was at the beginning, and some of "So I'm Talkin' to This Guy..." was pretty good.
"Not Dead Yet" is the story of Phil Southerland, who was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at 7 months. He took control of his diabetes and now heads a bike racing team to raise awareness and funds for solutions for Type 1. The first part is best if you're reading it because your passionate about bikes, while the second is best if you're reading it because you're passionate about diabetes. Lucky for me, I'm into both. Oh, and he looks like Matt Damon.
"So I'm Talkin' to This Guy..." is a collection of short, 2-page op-eds by Rob Borsilliano (or something equally Italian). He grew up in the Bronx and his wife talked him into moving to Des Moines. The last entry really threw me.
Both were decent. Not I'd-Rather-Give-Myself-a-Swirly boring, but not exactly enthralling, either. "Not Dead Yet" was at the beginning, and some of "So I'm Talkin' to This Guy..." was pretty good.
"Not Dead Yet" is the story of Phil Southerland, who was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at 7 months. He took control of his diabetes and now heads a bike racing team to raise awareness and funds for solutions for Type 1. The first part is best if you're reading it because your passionate about bikes, while the second is best if you're reading it because you're passionate about diabetes. Lucky for me, I'm into both. Oh, and he looks like Matt Damon.
"So I'm Talkin' to This Guy..." is a collection of short, 2-page op-eds by Rob Borsilliano (or something equally Italian). He grew up in the Bronx and his wife talked him into moving to Des Moines. The last entry really threw me.
2011-09-26
Writing Journal
*murrrrrrgh*
That's how I felt about this poem. See, I decline any desire to have any association with what have been described as "nerdy franchises." Not with the people, per se, actually, definintely not with the people. Some of my best friends are obsessed with nerdy franchises. Harry Potter, LOTR, Star Wars/Trek, mostly. My experience is intentionally very limited with each of those. No real good reason, to be honest. We all have quirks we can't explain; I just happen to have chosen this as mine.
Less than a month before a friend's birthday, I saw that someone at work had some Star Wars they wanted to sell. So I bought their copies of II and III, confident my friend's limited DVD collection didn't include these.
Well, with the Project Poem Project I've set for myself, I had to write a poem to accompany the gift. Please be advised that since it's supposed to be this "off."
Spacy Thoughts
When I finally met your (City Name) Biker gang,
Not a one of them was mean.
Yoda is green.
TSO was a great big blast!
You still owe me a set-up—Whadd’ya Know?
How close are you with Hans Solo?
We had just crossed the bridge when you gave me the news:
My car could go no farther.
Luke, I am your father.
When you took a girl to see Pink Floyd live,
Your teenaged dream came more than true.
May the force be with you.
In prepping for my first big ride,
You sold and showed me your slicks.
This has been a Jedi mind trick.
Now you have the second,
And you have also the third.
Jabba the Hut looks like a turd.
That's how I felt about this poem. See, I decline any desire to have any association with what have been described as "nerdy franchises." Not with the people, per se, actually, definintely not with the people. Some of my best friends are obsessed with nerdy franchises. Harry Potter, LOTR, Star Wars/Trek, mostly. My experience is intentionally very limited with each of those. No real good reason, to be honest. We all have quirks we can't explain; I just happen to have chosen this as mine.
Less than a month before a friend's birthday, I saw that someone at work had some Star Wars they wanted to sell. So I bought their copies of II and III, confident my friend's limited DVD collection didn't include these.
Well, with the Project Poem Project I've set for myself, I had to write a poem to accompany the gift. Please be advised that since it's supposed to be this "off."
Spacy Thoughts
When I finally met your (City Name) Biker gang,
Not a one of them was mean.
Yoda is green.
TSO was a great big blast!
You still owe me a set-up—Whadd’ya Know?
How close are you with Hans Solo?
We had just crossed the bridge when you gave me the news:
My car could go no farther.
Luke, I am your father.
When you took a girl to see Pink Floyd live,
Your teenaged dream came more than true.
May the force be with you.
In prepping for my first big ride,
You sold and showed me your slicks.
This has been a Jedi mind trick.
Now you have the second,
And you have also the third.
Jabba the Hut looks like a turd.
2011-09-20
Writing Journal
My church is holding an activity for the General Relief Society Broadcast this Saturday. We decided to send out postcards to remind some of our sisters who haven't been getting reminders on Sundays. This is the poem I included with mine.
Get all dolled up in a cute little skirt
And join your sisters for a little dessert.
7 pm is when it all starts.
So please come prepared
To hear stories meant to touch our hearts.
Yeah, not my best.
But it got the job done.
Get all dolled up in a cute little skirt
And join your sisters for a little dessert.
7 pm is when it all starts.
So please come prepared
To hear stories meant to touch our hearts.
Yeah, not my best.
But it got the job done.
2011-08-31
Dear President Obama
Dear President Obama,
While I appreciate your promises to help out those on the east coast with the flooding from Irene, under the direction of Mother Nature, I can't help but get a little green with envy. I understand their streets, homes and neighborhoods are covered with water or mud and that it is a general disaster area, and I can empathize. See, I'm from Omaha, and we've had parts of the Interstate closed for months because of flooding. Flooding that was caused when the Army Corps of Engineers, under the direction of Uncle Sam, released tons of water from dams upstream along the Missouri River.
Not only has FEMA refused to help finance the cleanup, but you yourself refuse to come out and even look at the damage. So, here, to make life easy for you, I'll save you the trip. Take a look at this photo slideshow from the Omaha World Herald.
Thank you,
seashmore
P.S.-The amount of support you've shown my neighborhood during this man-made disaster is proportionate to the amount of support you'll be seeing from me in the next election.
While I appreciate your promises to help out those on the east coast with the flooding from Irene, under the direction of Mother Nature, I can't help but get a little green with envy. I understand their streets, homes and neighborhoods are covered with water or mud and that it is a general disaster area, and I can empathize. See, I'm from Omaha, and we've had parts of the Interstate closed for months because of flooding. Flooding that was caused when the Army Corps of Engineers, under the direction of Uncle Sam, released tons of water from dams upstream along the Missouri River.
Not only has FEMA refused to help finance the cleanup, but you yourself refuse to come out and even look at the damage. So, here, to make life easy for you, I'll save you the trip. Take a look at this photo slideshow from the Omaha World Herald.
Thank you,
seashmore
P.S.-The amount of support you've shown my neighborhood during this man-made disaster is proportionate to the amount of support you'll be seeing from me in the next election.
2011-08-24
Writing Journal
I've decided I like doing what I call "Project Poems."
Kind of Hallmarky sort of things, I guess.
Similar to a homework assignment, there are certain things I tell myself I have to work into the poem. Doing so provides me with a structure to work within, which results in me enjoying my poetry a little more. And that way, too, it's not art just for art's sake.
For this one, I gave someone a CD from the band Riverside as a gift of gratitude and thought I'd include a poem incorporating the names of some of the songs. I also colored rainbows on some paper and wrapped it before putting it in the envelope. (You'll understand when you get to the end of the poem).
The Ultimate Trip: From Fearland to Fearless
Words alone are not enough
To thank you for helping
With something so tough
As a Schizophrenic Prayer.
Through the Other Side of the phone,
You saved me from Parasomnia
And I somehow felt less alone
When I emerged from my 02 Panic Room.
Nope. Words, they still won't do,
Even though I've tried.
So I'll say it with a song or two
Wrapped inside the Rainbow Box.
Kind of Hallmarky sort of things, I guess.
Similar to a homework assignment, there are certain things I tell myself I have to work into the poem. Doing so provides me with a structure to work within, which results in me enjoying my poetry a little more. And that way, too, it's not art just for art's sake.
For this one, I gave someone a CD from the band Riverside as a gift of gratitude and thought I'd include a poem incorporating the names of some of the songs. I also colored rainbows on some paper and wrapped it before putting it in the envelope. (You'll understand when you get to the end of the poem).
The Ultimate Trip: From Fearland to Fearless
Words alone are not enough
To thank you for helping
With something so tough
As a Schizophrenic Prayer.
Through the Other Side of the phone,
You saved me from Parasomnia
And I somehow felt less alone
When I emerged from my 02 Panic Room.
Nope. Words, they still won't do,
Even though I've tried.
So I'll say it with a song or two
Wrapped inside the Rainbow Box.
2011-08-05
Writing Journal
I admit; I've been out of touch with the pen as of late. But I awoke after a dream about meeting with my first editor in chief and poetry editor with the feeling that I need to submit something this year. So I need some practice, especially if I'm to appeal to their tastes.
Here goes, another one without a title...
All the worst parts of the day
Perspired to conspire against me.
The heat
The sun
The hills
The lonliness
I longed for a friend,
New or old,
Unexpected or foretold,
Someone to keep me company
On this twenty mile road.
When I paused to catch my breath,
Have a drink, take a rest,
I saw a horseless carriage
Painted white.
I found inside a man,
Who, of Columbus, was a knight.
I acknowledged I was weak.
He insisted there was no pressure
As he took me to a place
Where I would rest and be refreshed.
The whole time I was lonely,
He was close behind,
Waiting for me to just look back
And make up my weary mind.
Here goes, another one without a title...
All the worst parts of the day
Perspired to conspire against me.
The heat
The sun
The hills
The lonliness
I longed for a friend,
New or old,
Unexpected or foretold,
Someone to keep me company
On this twenty mile road.
When I paused to catch my breath,
Have a drink, take a rest,
I saw a horseless carriage
Painted white.
I found inside a man,
Who, of Columbus, was a knight.
I acknowledged I was weak.
He insisted there was no pressure
As he took me to a place
Where I would rest and be refreshed.
The whole time I was lonely,
He was close behind,
Waiting for me to just look back
And make up my weary mind.
2011-06-30
Fair Warning
I love reading books, I love discussing books. Really, truly, I do.
So you'd think I'd have some sort of literary entourage I just sit around and talk about books and the literary devices utilized in them, but I don't. Well, I kind of do. But they don't know each other. Well, they kind of do. Or they could.
But that's not the point.
The point is while I enjoy reading and discussing books, I suck at it. Come to think of it, I seem to suck at everything I like doing. At least, in some way. (That doesn't stop me from doing or enjoying it.)
The reason I suck at it is I'm forgetful. I'm very much an "in the moment" reader. Unless I've read what we're discussing in the past 2-3 days (or I've read it at least 4 times), I'm not going to have very much insight. And I forget major character's names all the time. I'm also a slow reader. Mostly because I get distracted easily while doing it. Not necessarily by external distractions, either. The other day, I was reading and caught myself thinking about what I was going to wear the next day. I had to back and read a couple of paragraphs again.
So, yeah, I like talking about books. And I'm definitely a literary snob, despite trying to be well-roundedly read.
So you'd think I'd have some sort of literary entourage I just sit around and talk about books and the literary devices utilized in them, but I don't. Well, I kind of do. But they don't know each other. Well, they kind of do. Or they could.
But that's not the point.
The point is while I enjoy reading and discussing books, I suck at it. Come to think of it, I seem to suck at everything I like doing. At least, in some way. (That doesn't stop me from doing or enjoying it.)
The reason I suck at it is I'm forgetful. I'm very much an "in the moment" reader. Unless I've read what we're discussing in the past 2-3 days (or I've read it at least 4 times), I'm not going to have very much insight. And I forget major character's names all the time. I'm also a slow reader. Mostly because I get distracted easily while doing it. Not necessarily by external distractions, either. The other day, I was reading and caught myself thinking about what I was going to wear the next day. I had to back and read a couple of paragraphs again.
So, yeah, I like talking about books. And I'm definitely a literary snob, despite trying to be well-roundedly read.
2011-05-31
Writing Journal
(Pay no attention to the Reading List on the side. I don't. It's so last year.)
For my next story project (I started one collecting stories about interesting ways people met, but they don't flesh out very well in text), I want to use my theory that married couples can be epitomized in the way they cut the cake at their wedding. The most recent couple and cake cutting/feeding can be described quite accurately as: Goofy, but Clean.
To do this, I'm going to go back through all my albums and journals from the past year or two and first tell the story of each cutting. The interesting ones, I'll look into getting the couple's "Where We Are" and "Where We've Been" stories. Some of them aren't that interesting, which is fine. For life. Just not for a compilation of stories.
Definitely want to include:
May 2010
July 2010 A
Aug 2010 B
May 2011
I'm sure there's a couple of other goodies in my wedding trunk; those are just the memorable ones!
For my next story project (I started one collecting stories about interesting ways people met, but they don't flesh out very well in text), I want to use my theory that married couples can be epitomized in the way they cut the cake at their wedding. The most recent couple and cake cutting/feeding can be described quite accurately as: Goofy, but Clean.
To do this, I'm going to go back through all my albums and journals from the past year or two and first tell the story of each cutting. The interesting ones, I'll look into getting the couple's "Where We Are" and "Where We've Been" stories. Some of them aren't that interesting, which is fine. For life. Just not for a compilation of stories.
Definitely want to include:
May 2010
July 2010 A
Aug 2010 B
May 2011
I'm sure there's a couple of other goodies in my wedding trunk; those are just the memorable ones!
2011-05-10
Writing Journal
To You From Me, To Me From You
If I could believe
Anyone believed in me,
I'd believe it you.
Sometimes I'll get poem-thoughts and see that they're only three lines when they're written out. That's when I check for syllable counts, and this one only took a little fudging to get the counts compatible with the haiku format.
If you've read any previous posts about my writing, you're probably shocked that this one has a title!
I was thinking about a few of the challenging situations I'm facing, one of which being the discord with the best friend I've ever had. Before I saw said friend last night, I was reading Mary Kay Ash's biography. She mentions numerous times in the first few chapters how important the words "You can do it," are to hear. Her mother, especially, told her that often. It led me to ponder on when I may have heard those words, and...I couldn't recall any. Especially in taking on one of my challenges.
I know I've had people tell me they want me to succeed, but I don't know that I can honestly remember anyone saying they thought I can. No one. Not true; one person. But she had known me for less than an hour and encouragement from her hasn't continued beyond that. I'm really all that bitter or upset about not hearing it since I doubt I'd believe their sincerity, anyway. If they did say they thought I could do this, it would likely be out of a sense of obligation to provide me with confidence in myself when they have none in me themselves. If that makes sense to anyone else...
But the friend I saw last night...that friend I'd believe. But I took on this challenge around about the time we had our falling out. And there hasn't been much opportunity for that friend to express any confidence in me. The reason I'd believe that friend? It's happened before with other challenges I've taken on.
Friend: If anyone can do this, you can.
Me: What if anyone can't do it, though?
Friend: You can do this. I know you can.
So that's the story behind the "To Me From You" part of the title.
That same friend told me one thing they liked about me was the way I tap my fingers when I write poems. Really only/most often with haikus. I tapped my fingers while writing this one. That's the story behind the "To You From Me" part.
If I could believe
Anyone believed in me,
I'd believe it you.
Sometimes I'll get poem-thoughts and see that they're only three lines when they're written out. That's when I check for syllable counts, and this one only took a little fudging to get the counts compatible with the haiku format.
If you've read any previous posts about my writing, you're probably shocked that this one has a title!
I was thinking about a few of the challenging situations I'm facing, one of which being the discord with the best friend I've ever had. Before I saw said friend last night, I was reading Mary Kay Ash's biography. She mentions numerous times in the first few chapters how important the words "You can do it," are to hear. Her mother, especially, told her that often. It led me to ponder on when I may have heard those words, and...I couldn't recall any. Especially in taking on one of my challenges.
I know I've had people tell me they want me to succeed, but I don't know that I can honestly remember anyone saying they thought I can. No one. Not true; one person. But she had known me for less than an hour and encouragement from her hasn't continued beyond that. I'm really all that bitter or upset about not hearing it since I doubt I'd believe their sincerity, anyway. If they did say they thought I could do this, it would likely be out of a sense of obligation to provide me with confidence in myself when they have none in me themselves. If that makes sense to anyone else...
But the friend I saw last night...that friend I'd believe. But I took on this challenge around about the time we had our falling out. And there hasn't been much opportunity for that friend to express any confidence in me. The reason I'd believe that friend? It's happened before with other challenges I've taken on.
Friend: If anyone can do this, you can.
Me: What if anyone can't do it, though?
Friend: You can do this. I know you can.
So that's the story behind the "To Me From You" part of the title.
That same friend told me one thing they liked about me was the way I tap my fingers when I write poems. Really only/most often with haikus. I tapped my fingers while writing this one. That's the story behind the "To You From Me" part.
2011-03-15
Writing Journal
Rain and Sunshine*
There's a storm cloud up above me
And it's darkening my halo.**
I have to wait for the rain to stop
Before I see my rainbow.
Many times I failed to hurt
Because I failed to see
The bad parts inside of you
And the good inside of me.
You didn't want to hurt me;
I never thought you would.
But now I see that I was wrong
To never think you could.
There's a storm cloud up above me
And it's darkening my halo.
I have to wait for the rain to stop
Before I see my rainbow.
I'm sitting here, not crying
Over how you treated me.
It now becomes my fervent hope
That someday you will see
The storm cloud up above me
That is darkening my halo.
I cannot wait for the rain to stop
So you can see my rainbow.
The next time that you see me,
I won't feel so alone.
Some other man may find me
And earn my pot of gold.
But even if he does not come,
The storm was not in vain.
Think of all the gardens grown
Every time it's rained.
Now there's no more clouds above me,
So it's clear to see my halo.
And now that the rain has stopped,
I finally found my rainbow.
*If you know me, you know I'm terrible with titles. And will always ask, if not beg, for suggestions and/or ideas.
**I promise this was not inspired by Porcupine Tree's "Halo." I had completely forgotten about any knowledge I may or may not have had about that song until Saturday, March 26, and I wrote the poem before that.
Although...hearing it over the weekend did cause me to come back to this, which led to my changing a line I didn't really like.
Now for the rest of the story... A blogger whose blog I stalk, er, read, gave me some advice on a situation. Advice it took me a while to follow. The premise of this poem was the premise of her messages to me. Writing it was very theraputic to me in terms of dealing with some of the choices I had made and actions that had been taken. I had hoped that it would answer one of the questions I still had for myself about the situation, but it didn't. Maybe the next one will.
There's a storm cloud up above me
And it's darkening my halo.**
I have to wait for the rain to stop
Before I see my rainbow.
Many times I failed to hurt
Because I failed to see
The bad parts inside of you
And the good inside of me.
You didn't want to hurt me;
I never thought you would.
But now I see that I was wrong
To never think you could.
There's a storm cloud up above me
And it's darkening my halo.
I have to wait for the rain to stop
Before I see my rainbow.
I'm sitting here, not crying
Over how you treated me.
It now becomes my fervent hope
That someday you will see
The storm cloud up above me
That is darkening my halo.
I cannot wait for the rain to stop
So you can see my rainbow.
The next time that you see me,
I won't feel so alone.
Some other man may find me
And earn my pot of gold.
But even if he does not come,
The storm was not in vain.
Think of all the gardens grown
Every time it's rained.
Now there's no more clouds above me,
So it's clear to see my halo.
And now that the rain has stopped,
I finally found my rainbow.
*If you know me, you know I'm terrible with titles. And will always ask, if not beg, for suggestions and/or ideas.
**I promise this was not inspired by Porcupine Tree's "Halo." I had completely forgotten about any knowledge I may or may not have had about that song until Saturday, March 26, and I wrote the poem before that.
Although...hearing it over the weekend did cause me to come back to this, which led to my changing a line I didn't really like.
Now for the rest of the story... A blogger whose blog I stalk, er, read, gave me some advice on a situation. Advice it took me a while to follow. The premise of this poem was the premise of her messages to me. Writing it was very theraputic to me in terms of dealing with some of the choices I had made and actions that had been taken. I had hoped that it would answer one of the questions I still had for myself about the situation, but it didn't. Maybe the next one will.
2011-03-03
Reading, Writing Journal
So, it's been a while....
I'm reading more than I used to. Although I did take a good break this winter, after I finished "Quirky, Yes. Hopeless, No," a book about dealing with kids who have Aspberger's and "Winter Blues," a book about understanding Seasonal Affective Disorder. Now, I'm almost finished with "Little Women," and "Goodbye Ed, Hello Me," a book about recovering from an eating disorder. Sometimes I read books about things I don't have and situations I'm not in, because I might come across someone who is there, and I'd like to have a glimpse of understanding.
I've been dabbling in writing. Mostly about dating. Like "The Economics of Dating" and "How to Get Over a Guy in 10 Days." But neither of those are in final enough stages to share with hoards of public, and I'm rather choosy about subjecting my prosaic ideas to scores of readers. My poetry, however...I'm better at exposing that. Mostly because I need help with titles. (If I were more serious of a writer, I'd look for workshops or something.)
Little Lamb
One little black sheep,
Lost in the dark,
Too scared to cry out for help.
Doesn't think anyone would
Hear him, anyway.
Searching for him with
Flood lights and heliocopters
Only creates more shadows and noise,
Driving him deeper into darkness.
Once the search party gives up,
One little child goes out,
Armed with a flashlight,
Some bread, and a blanket.
After much lonely searching,
The black sheep is brought home.
And the child sneaks away,
In search of another lost sheep.
I'm reading more than I used to. Although I did take a good break this winter, after I finished "Quirky, Yes. Hopeless, No," a book about dealing with kids who have Aspberger's and "Winter Blues," a book about understanding Seasonal Affective Disorder. Now, I'm almost finished with "Little Women," and "Goodbye Ed, Hello Me," a book about recovering from an eating disorder. Sometimes I read books about things I don't have and situations I'm not in, because I might come across someone who is there, and I'd like to have a glimpse of understanding.
I've been dabbling in writing. Mostly about dating. Like "The Economics of Dating" and "How to Get Over a Guy in 10 Days." But neither of those are in final enough stages to share with hoards of public, and I'm rather choosy about subjecting my prosaic ideas to scores of readers. My poetry, however...I'm better at exposing that. Mostly because I need help with titles. (If I were more serious of a writer, I'd look for workshops or something.)
Little Lamb
One little black sheep,
Lost in the dark,
Too scared to cry out for help.
Doesn't think anyone would
Hear him, anyway.
Searching for him with
Flood lights and heliocopters
Only creates more shadows and noise,
Driving him deeper into darkness.
Once the search party gives up,
One little child goes out,
Armed with a flashlight,
Some bread, and a blanket.
After much lonely searching,
The black sheep is brought home.
And the child sneaks away,
In search of another lost sheep.
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