My Literary People

Do you ever get in that situation in which you have been working at something diligently, but then you have one long conversation and suddenly there's this great big new thing out there too? 


Yeah... that's what happens when I get with my literary people. I have a few of them. If you go back through the poems on the site you'll see some commentary from one of them. I had dinner and drinks with the other a few days ago and let's just say after listening to way to much about Dr. Who (series 5 and 6) and her latest literary triumphs and opportunities, I'm getting the feeling like I've got something new brewing. I've been working on world building for a particular world for a few years. I've got characters and even some plot line. I know everything except what happens in the middle (which is the worst place to be stuck). 


But since this set of conversations I had recently, I've been having weirder dreams than usual (which is quite difficult for me - I always have strange, outlandish dreams) and I can feel the cogs turning up in my brain. There's something on the move. I don't know if it'll be something new or an adjustment to something old, but there's something moving around and ticking up there. I guess there's nothing to do but wait until it's a bit more formed.


What do you do when you have an idea forming?

Birthday Post

I suppose that I should do a birthday post. It's a bit hot and sticky here and I'm trying to pack up my life to take back to the states with me. It's one of those days in which I keep feeling like I've forgotten something.  Not very birthday-like. 


On the other hand, my husband is taking me to lunch at a Mexican restaurant (a rarity in Hong Kong, I assure you). Plus we've got ice cream and wine. It should be a good day.


The next time I post (in which I hope to have something literary to put here), I'll be back in the States.


And a special thanks to Gabriel over at Angelspeak for all of the lit crit and things you've been giving me to think about. :)

Versatile Blogger

My friend Leighann over at The Endless Rant of a Multitasking Mumma has awarded me and a few others with the (dun, dun, dun)

Though she nominated Ren bi mo, apparently it is for both this blog and Sans Serif where the ends aren't capped. I try to keep the writing going, whether it's a free write or a slightly more polished piece. 

As part of the award, I get to pass it on to a few people who are making the blogosphere a better place:

free fringes - This woman cracks me up! She keeps it versatile with personal posts, writing prompt responses and love links (where she helps spread the blog love). 

Contemplating Happiness - Pat's got a big heart and a lot to share between her Life Lessons and Random Musings. Check out her post on Passion - it seems to explain it all.

Ready or Not - I've gotten some great giggles from this website, whether it's about raising kids, teaching or just random memories.

NatureGirl - I love the naturalness of this blog! It's comfortable, like your favorite pair of jeans. It doesn't matter what she's talking about (very versatile), it seems to all come together the right way.

And last but not least, 

Angelspeak - Gabriel defines versatile. Between interviews, writing prompts and posting poetry to help us keep expanding our literary worlds, she manages to keep it personal and meaningful for all of her readers. 

I also would have awarded this blog to Galit at These Little Waves, but our Multitasking Mumma already did so. :)

Check out the other winners from Leighann's page and winners, don't forget to pass this along to your favorite and most versatile blogs.  :)

 

Getting My Write On and Proud of It

This week's RemembeRED was to write about something that you're proud of.


I've got to say, the things that I've done on this blog - my little bits of writing and art - are things I am proud of. 


In college, I had an abusive boyfriend that I stuck with for way too long. I developed severe depression and went almost two years before I sought any professional help (which didn't really help, but there you are). I had always been a writer, just as I had always been a reader. I really started coming into some better poetry just as I got into college, but then the depression and the suppressing of emotions and experiences. It was all I could do to hang on for the ride.


Needless to say, my writing dried up. Even when I tried to use it as a creative and therapeutic outlet, nothing came. I used to joke with my (genius, novel-writing) roommate that I had the longest bout of writer's block in the history of man: four years. 


It hasn't been until recently that I've found my way back to writing. Two years ago, I started kicking around an idea for a novel, but nothing much has come of it - a little world building and some random notes and doodles. It wasn't until March, after reading the writing/literary blog of a friend of mine that I started really pushing myself to write and express. I may have started the ball rolling a few months earlier, but pushing myself to write everyday and post to the blog a few times a week has really gotten me expressing in a way I haven't in years. Not only that, but it's taken me back to a way of seeing the world that I haven't in a long time. It's nice to start to see things with an artist's eye again. Pushing to express and finding new creativity where I suspected that it might have dried up forever is something I am proud of. I am proud to have pushed and found myself capable of getting there again. 


Fruits of my labors:
Found in the Sea off Cape Artemision, ca. 1920
Thai Fare
Vapid Aphrodite
Heaven Bent
Orphic Mission

Heaven Bent

P&W prompt number 8 for me (as usual thanks to Angelspeak):


Choose a cliched phrase (“fit as a fiddle,” “think out of the box,” “running on empty,” etc.) and turn it around. Use the new meaning created by this reversal to fuel a poetic meditation.


I decided to use the phrase "Hell-bent for leather" which is sometimes shortened to "Hell-bent", meaning to be going very fast. I changed the phrase to "Heaven-bent" and slowed it down a bit.

Heaven Bent

He walked the trail upward ahead of me

taking the landscape one pace at a time, 

slowing his stride imperceptibly to give me

the chance to catch up as I panted behind

"Why do you always pick the highest

climb you can find on the trail?" I asked,

wondering if I would get any reply this time

 mentally counting the hundreds before

Patiently he climbed, taking time to breathe,

time to live and experience each moment 

of the unhurried ascent, early afternoon sun 

shining around his blonde locks like a halo 

Puffing to catch up where I'd fallen back

I scrambled up a yet steeper, shorter path

only to stumble and scrape both knees 

with a tight wince, but not a sound escaping

A solid hand reached out to help - I took it

gratefully after my rash moment, pain subsiding

the steady calm of him capturing me completely 

"From up there we can touch the heavens."

Comments welcome.

Orphic Mission

Today's post is another from the P&W prompt series (again, thanks to Angelspeak):


Flip through the dictionary and randomly choose 10 words. Write a poem with each word in every other line.


Here are the words I collected (with definitions from Merriam-Webster):


perigee - the point on the moon's elliptical path closest to Earth (making it look large)
apogee - the point on the moon's elliptical path farthest from Earth (making it look small)
quintessence - the most typical example of a thing; the essence of a thing in its most pure/concentrated form;the fifth and highest element in ancient and medieval philosophy that permeates all nature and is the substance composing the celestial bodies
divest - to undress or strip
orphic - having to do with Orpheus (the poet/musician who almost rescues his wife Eurydice from Hades by charming Pluto and Persephone with his lyre)
lignin (or lignify) - the substance that makes wood cells hard ( to convert into wood/woody tissue)
tissular - relating to organismic tissue
embrew (another spelling of imbrue) - to stain (something)
wame - (chiefly Scottish) the belly; in a woman, the womb
forbear - to hold back or abstain, particularly with effort


I got some from links on the front page of the site and rest from browsing the dictionary by letter. It wasn't until I looked up quintessence a second time that I got the celestial/alchemical definition, but by that time I already had 8 words and a theme was starting to arise. Words like changeling started coming to mind, so I came up with a draft: (the link is really worth reading if you don't know too much about about changeling/fairy lore - some of the references will make more sense)

With sweat streaming, a woman on an orphic mission

made her way up ol’ fairye hill, her fair complexion ruddy

with the strain of climbing. So close was the perigee moon

and with it the hope of recovering her baby for this changeling,

the hope that the quintessential vulnerability of her child, her real child

kept it safe from the little people’s wicked ways.

This child, stock or fetch, lignifying in her arm, failed to thrive.

Its tissular structures became rigid as she neared the stones-

her last chance at saving her little girl. The tugging of fear at her wame

collapsed any confidence she had left, embrewing her thoughts

 divesting her of her power to have an effect. Passing the lump in her arms

through the Crick stones thrice, she waited her child with hope.

The moon forbore its ancient potent, as though the apogee had come

too soon.


Because that was just terrible and the interesting words I had picked were often too obscure to really convey well the meaning, I drafted again, dropping the words where necessary, but trying to retain their meaning as much as possible.  

Orphic Mission

Sweat streaming into her eyes, a young woman panted

up ol' fairye hill, her fair complexion ruddy with strain.

The full moon bloomed large over the crest of the hill

a terra cotta medallion, her only remaining hope.

Pulling at the swaddling blankets in her arms, she glanced

at the false infant, a stock or fetch, lignifying before her eyes

a failure to thrive that was apparent from the moment she saw

the out-turned coat on the floor, fallen from the cradle.

The struggle to breathe, a hint of blue at the tips of the fingers

Gasping and grasping, a suddenly fussy changeling lay

where once was nestled a tranquil child, touched by the heavens

The deceitful being she held became more and more rigid

as she neared the stones - her last chance at saving her little girl

A fear tugged in her belly, collapsing any confidence she held,

imbruing her thoughts and divesting her of maternal power

Passing the body in her arms through the crick stone thrice

She awaited the arrival of her child, hope waning

The moon withheld its ancient potency, as though the perigee

had come too late




Comments welcome.

Alarm Sounding

Today I addressed another P&W prompt (picked up from Angelspeak). 

Write a sonnet, a fourteen-line poem made up, typically, of three stanzas of four lines, and a fourth of two lines, or a couplet. Use the following rhyme scheme: In each of the first three stanzas, rhyme the first and third lines and the second and fourth lines (a, b, a, b, c, d, c, d, e, f, e, f); and rhyme the lines of the couplet (g, g). For a traditional example, see Shakespeare’s ”From you have I been absent in the spring….”For a contemporary example, see Denis Johnson’s ”Heat.”

For the record, I really dislike this prompt. Sonnets – what a pain in the butt. Really. I spent more than a hour counting and recounting feet of poetry on my fingers while trying to think of rhymes that didn’t sound silly. I’m not sure I succeeded. I will, no doubt, re-write this poem to capture something much better in the near future. (Note – this reads better if you add a brief caesura after the word stillness of line 5.)

Alarm Sounding

The silent snowy hills of arctic light

are full of trees immeas’rable in worth

The summer days leave so few hours of night

or living things to walk upon this earth.

Through stillness now suddenly emerges

the sound of living earth, it tears and rends

Earth shattering, through stone and rock surges

a force that more than mother natures bends.

The cry – the breaking of an arctic shelf

a severing of earth sounds the alarm

a crime on nature in and of itself

a thing it seems no living thing could harm

A crime that we should kill the wilderness

by living lives that venture to excess.

Comments are welcome, as always.

P&W Prompt 4 (Originally 6)

Prompt from P&W (and Angelspeak):

Choose a poem that you've written and rewrite it in its reverse, making the last line first, etc. Revise this version, creating a new poem.

So I chose a poem that I wrote in October of 2009. It was about a girl who was "secretly" involved with a guy I very briefly dated. She had a tendency to try to only treat me nicely when there was no one else to talk to and it annoyed me greatly. I was always nice, but found her flaky, shallow tendencies too much for me one day. Here's the original:

You look down upon me

and I wish

I could sit so high in the world

You whisper quiet conversations

enticing him in slowly

with otherwise mundane

complained efforts

You word yourself out

The chip on your shoulder

growing to my eyes

Showing you sheltered privilege 

you talk about money

then brushing it away

and unneeded endowment offered

Only when our eyes meet

do you shrink away, false modesty

your downward sneer again

Your clicking heels 

The hallway echoes widely

it shares my contempt

rejoicing the abating sound

The prompt is to reverse the lines and compose a new poem. Here's the reverse:

Rejoicing the abating sound

it shares my contempt

the hallway echoes widely

your clicking heels

Your downward sneer again

do you shrink away, false modesty

only when our eyes meet

An unneeded endowment offered

then brushing it away

you talk about money

showing your sheltered privilege

Growing to my eyes

the chip on your shoulder

you word yourself out

Complained efforts

with otherwise mundane

enticing him in slowly

you whisper quiet conversations

I could sit so high in the world

and I wish

You look down upon me

Then I revised and rewrote my (now long abandoned) contempt Again it is untitled – suggested titles are welcome. Here is the final product:

I rejoice the abating sound of clicking heels

in the echoing hallways that share my contempt

for your attitude - your presence, one moment

sniveling and sweet, another condescending

Your downward sneer is spotted so

you shrink away, false modesty appearing

in your shoulders, in the arch of your neck

but your eyes flash and give you away

From abroad, an unneeded endowment offered

You brush it away, your talk of money clearly

exhibiting the sheltered privilege

from which you look down at me, at all

Now growing, to my eyes, is the chip

on your shoulder, in conversation

your word yourself out, pretension only

a short stroll from your misused vernacular

Performing your cheap woes, your seduction

no more than mundane complaints, aloof

and apathetic, you try to entice him

with whispered words and quiet conversations

I could sit so high in the world, looking down

such a slender nose at every human connection, 

but I do not find the presence of others

to be abhorrent - just yours. 

As always, comments are welcome. 

P&W Prompt 3 - Dog Days

The Prompt: (retrieved from Angelspeak)  

What is something you are afraid to write about in your own poems, either because it is too personal, or because you feel it is cliché? Create a character - a swarthy bum, a baker, a dog - and write a narrative poem in which your character addresses this topic. Let the fact that the poem isn't really about you be freeing.

So here we go again with the P&W prompts... I'll let you know, I'm not a poet. I'll do my best to follow the prompt and I'll even take it's advice - my character is going to be a dog. A dog with human thoughts, because I don't speak dog and can't translate it for you.


Dog Days

"What's wrong with it?"
"Mommy, why doesn't the doggy want to play?"
"I don't like it, Carletta. What if it goes after one of the kids?"

Their questions of concern fly around me,
not really thinking, not really wanting
to know the answers to the riddle. I'm a dog
and that is all they want me to be

but I'm not their dog. They didn't ask me
where I came from or how I got there.
They weren't told that the person I loved
has died, is gone, will never rub my ears
ever again.

"Did you ask the shelter?"
"It was a transfer - they didn't know anything."
"I'm worried. Sometimes she snaps when you touch her."

They weren't told that I wasn't fed for days,
that when they found the body I was ignored,
not even thought of, tied there and left.
The kid next door kicked me. I was already down.

They don't ask me what I'm dreaming about
when I bite down on the bedding and kick.
They just get annoyed when I howl at night,
looking for a soft hand on my head.

The Rottweiler at the metal fence just barks angrily
and the German short-hair at the white fence tells me
all these humans are depressed - they never play,
but then they should get it, shouldn't they?

As always - comments welcome!