Career opportunities, the ones that never knock

The interwebs are a dangerous place.  I stumbled upon a link to Google sites, and now I have a ton of ideas about linking wayward posts, and things  ::am vague::.  I did have an idea about the story I am writing being online, virtual with links, and photos, and maps and other interactive stuff.  Not sure I am up to that level, but ideas abound.

Just what I need, more projects.  Can I purchase some time?  That would be an amazing Google feature.  And you know one day, when they own the earth, they will have conquered time.  That app will be on its way.  It had better be free.

Would it be a pale fire, or a raging fire?

Love children and how they are handled, or Hamlet's dilemma which is kind of a cool way of looking at it.

Given how Lolita was treated and manipulated by popular culture, maybe Nabokov didn't want Laura treated the same way. I could understand that. Putting myself in his shoes, I think of how I would feel if someone found writings I didn't want public. I sympathize with that. But this is Nabokov, not me, and I would love to read whatever it was. Nice literary controversy. Like the writer's strike, it makes me happy that sort of thing is getting wider exposure, for people who wouldn't notice otherwise.

In other news I have scheduled a few things that I am going to do. A certain poem that I workshopped for writing group, I am going to actually think about submitting it. Maybe. We shall see. I'm not brave. I get what Dmitri is feeling. Be brave enough to make the right decision, when you don't know what that is.

A certain willingness to let it fly and see what happens is freeing of course, and [insert screams of doubt] then you will never know if you don't.

Have a great Sunday!

Duck duck goose

Productive morning this was. I wrote one poem, and finished (heh, not really but I am hopeful) another. It has been a long time since that happened. I was in a mood to write something, but really didn't have any topic in mind. So I started doodling with the keyboard, and ended up with what might be a poem some day. Then I looked in my "current poetry - working on" poem file, and found the one I tidied up. Happy with most of it, but the last bit, which I think should be expanded/fixed/dealt with.

Then I went shopping. Only gone 1/2 hour because I am efficient if nothing else. I think my Benadryl will be kicking in soon, so that will be that for a while.

Have a good one!

I know I am going to regret that subject line!

At least penguins are dressed when they are naked.

I found the map again. I had mapped the town in my story, because I am visual, and want to be able to picture the goings on around town. I lost the map, and then I found it, and then I misplaced it again, and then found it yesterday. Again. I am amused by losing and then finding maps.

Anyway, I might have to rename streets, because State and Main is just a little too clichéd for me this morning. Eh.

I sent the first chapter of this to the writer's group yesterday. My anxiety about it faded some, but talk about the emperor with no clothes. Sadly, I am picturing penguins right now. I do need a little more coffee I think.

I will map some more, and then see what the day brings. Have a good one.

fly away little birdie, fly away

Two little blackbirds sitting on a wall
One named Peter and one named Paul
Fly away Peter, fly away Paul,
Come back Peter, come back Paul.

The writing group that I have joined, is a go for next Friday, 2:00 if we don't get permanently lost in the corn maze that morning. Kid's field trip. So I now have to decide which prose I want to send for review.

I am siding with the Trapper first chapter, because that is nearest my heart, and also the most polished as it is 3 years old very shortly. I was inspired by a friend's tales of her home town. It prompted me for the first time in my life to write a character whose story would not go away. Writers talk of that, characters grabbing hold, and this happened to me. So here I am 35K later, only getting to the middle, and it is still around. No one has read any of this, other than a paragraph or two. So I am contemplating the first chapter for this writing group. In one way, I don't want to know what anyone thinks, because, like having your kids held out for review. But on the other hand, I haven't a clue what it is really like, so in that, a review from the others.

But then I have this other short story, prompted by my great uncle (my grandmother's uncle) named Seraphim (who would name that kid that!! ego much?), and a cross between that and some online quiz that gave me the other character's name, and then the story was born. I am a little more curious about this one, because I am so close to it, and can see it on repeat in my mind, that I wonder how it would be read. It seems religious, because angel type creatures, but that isn't what it is. But it would seem like that, and that in between place I find really fascinating. How religion could change the story, how our human mythologies would change how these creatures would be viewed by the reader? Plus touching religious images is always hot button. And if I even come close to making that clear, while still keeping the mythology intact. I know I am not there yet, and it still needs tons of work, less polished then the Trapper chapter. Choices, choices...

In between spaces are so fascinating. The taking of the "what is" and pushing and pulling, and playing with the spaces and the placement and breaking it, and seeing the new empty spaces. And the new forms of what becomes. So cool. Dawn's drawing in The Body. /BtVS reference.

Taking characters who on first read seem sleazy and maybe mean, poor choices, and finding their humanity, and playing with that. Letting them see that too, I think that is cool. One of the themes in the Trapper story, is the idea about how people see other people, and how that affects each of them. How the idea of the town view, the public spectacle of someone's life is the same and different from their inner life. Again, the in between places. That line I wrote in one of my April poems about the spaces between the leaves, the trees, really placed it down. Funny how one line of poetry can say it so clearly.

Have a great day.
Vicky

More later as it occurs to me

Cutwork Notions

I place my perfectly squared-edge anger
neatly in my sewing box; folded and quartered,
sectioned for use later when the furrows are erased.

Somewhat for my amusement

Triplets of O Street

Triplet white wedding gowns parade
in a thrift shop window,
a discount gift from the newly divorced
to the ambitious and hopeful?
They display brightly posed, a ghost bling
of light reflects in white-
satin iridescence - no gaze but mine.

Driving past on my way to work
these headless ladies, no
horsemen, stand with their ghost hands
on their hips, a pretense for the passers by.

I gun the engine wondering
who would offer their used dress
to a Catholic aid service after the divorce.
Did they not see the irony in that charity?


We shall see what happens with this!

Day 28

Notes To The Future

Everything I write
is a note to my future self,
a way to indicate
who I was and why.

..........A dance or a shuffle.

How my future
self reads that note
is yet to be determined,
but in a day or so
or more
I will know.

..........Scribed for the older.

Thanks, Vicky

I hope the coding works. Blogger sucks for specific coding. I may need to edit. Ha! We all knew that.

ETA: It won't allow a return after the last line. What a day this is going to be. Oh I will try once more.

Not a chore despite the title of tomorrow's peom

Trust the poem. It will appear. ::dances::

Day 17

Recent Questions

If the spirit of your boy can
be broken by a girl kicking
a soccer ball, just how strong
was his spirit before the game?

With arms spread, holding tight,
do pylons play skip with their wires
at night when we aren’t
looking?

Shouldn’t flags be flown
at half mast all of the time,
and at full mast for the special
somber reasons?

If the men write of their hard
won achievements and war,
and the women write of their children and wishing
true love, and the children write of future
fantasy, what does that leave for me?

If your poetry scares
me, does that mean I
frighten easily?

If your poetry doesn’t scare
me, does that mean
you haven’t done your job?

If my spirit, holding tight, flies
at half mast, writing future fantasy,
easily frightened, am I
doing my job?


Crack I say, crack!!!! Thanks for reading.
Vicky (you should have seen the other drafts, and yes there were other drafts. Scary!)

I have a theme!! Silk thread

I was going to save this for when I might need it, but what the hell. It appears I may have started Napowrimo and I think I even have a theme. This one, maybe like labour pains readying me.

Stitched

Every morning,
in the mirror,
I see my c-section scar
smile at me.

The mirror is glazed
with silk grey steam.
Her expression is blurred,
distanced by the mist.

Like a smile
from someone I knew
once long ago.

So this smile,
crooked and impartial,
stitches me
to her.

and a one, and a two, and a three

Quills
plucked black
ink this hay(na)ku.

I like this form very much. Thanks Harry.

drops, of many things really

At some point I will have to sort the links to the left in alphabetical order. But until then, I am going to keep them in the order in which I discover them. A history of sorts.

Woke with two poem bits in my head. That certainly does save me the work of actually trying to think about what to write. I want to call it, oh, I don't know, something referring to political leadership, but that might be too Marilyn-ish. A fractured haiku. First go rounds are evil.

[Poem deleted for extreme woosie-ness]
__

Did you know that Goethe would tap out his metre for his poems on his lover's back? How wonderful is that?

Have a great day!