tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66134382944669764612024-03-05T19:37:33.759-08:00142-booksI take inspiration from the lost and discarded. The once loved and no longer needed. I write and I make art and sometimes I post it here. Thanks for stopping. bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-12699719583210927612015-04-14T13:57:00.000-07:002015-04-14T14:54:17.892-07:00Death of the StorybookI recently submitted a story to an agent for a critique. She said that my writing was good. Her only concern was that she didn't feel my work would be mainstream. At 996 words it was considered too long to be a picture book and that there was no longer a market for storybooks. <br />
No more storybooks?<br />
I was told that parents want to read short books to their children at bedtime, 300 - 500 words ideally. It saddened me to think that at the end of the day, when work is over and lessons are complete and the kitchen is cleaned and you finally get to see your child, all you can offer them is 300 words. <br />
That's not to say that there aren't many wonderful books written to that length. But that comment did seem to speak to our hurried and harried way of life. <br />
My first thought to the agent's advice was, 'Okay, I can do that. Shorter? No problem.' And I could, if I wanted to. The thing is, I like writing storybooks. I like stories that are lyrical, that are just as much for the parents as the children. Stories that are, dare I say it, sweet.<br />
If I have a message in my work it is for parents and it is this. Pay Attention. Childhood is over in the blink of an eye and trust me, it's not the children who grow up and remember those bedtime stories. It's the parents who pick up a long forgotten book and remember how it felt to be snuggled up against their little one lost in the midst of a story. A fairy tale perhaps.<br />
How long are we allowed into the world of our own children? Not long. The real world with all of its demands asserts itself far too soon. And we are left with the task of saying everything we have to say in 300 words. <br />
So I will continue to write my storybooks. Perhaps I will read them to a grandchild one day, all 1,000 words of them. <br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-78870365237553093242014-05-26T08:45:00.000-07:002014-05-26T08:45:33.754-07:00The Flight of Sebastian Bean
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter 1</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; font-size: 22.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">S</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tories like this
one always begin in misery.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">There was a time when
Sebastian Bean had two parents, a beautiful mother and a handsome father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all lived together in a tall narrow
house on a lovely tree lined street in a fashionable area of a quaint and
historic city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian had a bedroom
of his own and in it he had a wall filled with bookshelves and on the shelves
hundreds of books, so many that his fathered attached a ladder that slid on a
rail so that he could reach the books at the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the long window above his desk he
could see all the way to the square in the centre of town where a marble
fountain burbled and people fed the pigeons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And very often in the evenings he would walk with his parents down to
the ice cream shop where he ordered a chocolate peppermint cone that he ate
with great enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At night his
mother would come in and kiss him goodnight and before he fell asleep he would
say, ‘I am very lucky’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he was. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a very, very lucky boy and then all at
once he wasn’t.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One Sunday morning
Sebastian woke to the sun streaming through his window and the birds singing in
the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no reason for him
to think that it wouldn’t be another lucky day in his very lucky life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when he sat up in bed and listened to the
house he was filled with a feeling that he was not used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something wasn’t right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got out of his bed and opened his door and
peered into the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What he saw was
his father was talking to Doctor<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor shook his head and put his hand on
Arthur Bean’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>shoulder and patted it
twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian stepped farther out
into the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Father?’ he called and
in the single word were a million questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Go back to your room Sebastian,” said his father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will be in shortly”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sebastian went back to
his room and sat on his bed and the feeling that something was very wrong grew
and grew until his father came in with the news that his mother had contracted
a terrible influenza and that he must pack a bag at once and go and stay with
his grandmother so that he didn’t get infected as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had Sebastian known how important what he put
into his suitcase was going to be he would have packed more carefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he was so worried about his mother he
couldn’t think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His father made him wear
a mask across his nose so that he didn’t breathe in any of the germs that had
made his mother sick and as he passed the door to their bedroom Sebastian
called ‘Goodbye mumma.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know
if she heard him and sadly he would never know for his mother died the next
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Over the next while
Sebastian was sadder than I have words to describe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He missed his mother terribly and to make
matters worse it seemed that his father had forgotten him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian remained with his grandmother and
only saw his father from time to time and each time his father seemed more of a
stranger to Sebastian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spoke quietly
and he never remembered to hug Sebastian and always left without taking him
back home. His grandmother told him that his father was sad too and that he
would come around and that time was a great healer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The spring went by and
turned to summer and then to autumn and finally to winter and spring
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then one day when Sebastian
and his grandmother were working in her flower beds turning over the black dirt
and getting them ready for planting a long black car snaked its way up the
drive and parked in front of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian
stood and dusted his hands off on the back of his pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door of the car opened and his father
climbed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello Sebastian!” he
boomed in the voice he used to use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’ve come to take you home!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sebastian was so surprised that he could not seem to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to run into his father’s arms with
relief , but he couldn’t seem to do anything but stand in one spot with his
mouth hanging open in surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His
grandmother stepped forward and placed her hand on Sebastian’s back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well,” she said, “isn’t this
wonderful.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But her voice didn’t sound
excited, it sounded very much like Sebastian was feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was saying happy words but they sounded
anything but.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian’s father stood
there grinning and Sebastian stood in the same place and his grandmother stood
behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may have stood this way
for a good long time had the other door on the car not opened with a creak
capturing their attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Arthur,” said a dark
velvet voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Will you help me
out?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian’s father hurried to the
other side of the car and extended his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A gloved hand appeared and wrapped itself around his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Mr. Bean raised his hand a long thin woman
was revealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wore a tight fitting
skirt and had an ostrich plume in her hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She had a long thin nose to match the rest of her and a wide red
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sebastian,” said his father,
“there is someone I’d like you to meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is, well it’s, your, I should say.. my wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your stepmother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the air in Nanny’s yard became very
still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the birds were shocked into
silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello Sebastian,” purred the
thin woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It is such a pleasure to
meet you at last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arthur has told me so
many things about you I feel as if I know you already.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her voice dripped all over Sebastian and she
smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still had not moved a muscle
although his mind had begun to race inside of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This person, this stepmother person was going
to live with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sleep in their house,
in his mother’s bed, use her things, sit in her chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No it couldn’t be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as he watched his father’s face and saw
him smiling at the thin woman he realized it was real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horribly, awfully real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled at Sebastian revealing a row of
well manicured teeth and he was somewhat relieved to see that they weren’t
pointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m afraid it’s come as a
shock to you,” the thin woman went on, “Arthur, shame on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told you he should have been warned. You
may call me Sinthia my dear.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last
Sebastian found his voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s nice to
meet you,” he managed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Bean stepped
closer to Sebastian and ruffled his hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“He’s alright aren’t you son?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sebastian was so surprised at being ruffled by his father that he, for a
moment, forgot to be shocked at the situation that was presenting itself in
Nanny’s garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been so long
since Arthur Bean had shown his son any affection at all that Sebastian didn’t
quite know how to respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little boys
aren’t so different than puppies really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even if you haven’t paid much attention to it a puppy will always
forgive his owner at the first sign of kindness and that is exactly what
Sebastian did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that split second he
looked at his father and smiled and thought ‘maybe it will be alright’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor Sebastian, he was so happy for a little
affection he didn’t even hear the other car door open until a very fat and freckly
kind of a voice said, “If I don’t get something to eat in the next 5 minutes my
blood sugar will plummet.”</span></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-29651528036111113922013-12-05T11:13:00.000-08:002013-12-05T11:13:06.827-08:00reaperthe end that we fear<br />
is coming<br />
on cold breath and silent feet<br />
don't listen<br />
the whisper of foretelling<br />
cannot be heard<br />
no ear attuned<br />
to the sound of finality exists<br />
don't look<br />
for it is invisible<br />
just somewhere<br />
everywhere<br />
at once<br />
don't touch it<br />
it can't be felt<br />
but inside<br />
where the knowing grows<br />
an uneasy peculiarity<br />
is hiding in the shadows<br />
waiting for the moment<br />
we forget bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-64037453565753695362013-08-12T20:35:00.000-07:002013-08-12T20:35:48.126-07:00What Kind of Writer Are You?
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have asked myself this question many times, taken online quizzes
and submitted samples for analysis and at the end of it all I’ve determined
that I don’t one hundred percent know what kind of writer I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shouldn’t I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know what I like to write. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to write poetry when I’m particularly
stressed or emotional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I write quickly
without any rules and let the words arrive of their own volition. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time when I wrote a poem every
night before bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wrote them all at
once, without stopping to edit or revise or allow myself time to think about it
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I found this kind of writing gave
me a tremendous sense of release. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other
times I write in vignettes painting a picture with broad gestures and very
little shading. These stories usually arrive as a whole at inopportune moments
and I find myself scrambling for some paper and a pencil and write until the
story is done or my brain kicks in and puts an end to it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I write historical fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like the narrative, the flowery prose, the
use of language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I like to write for
children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you asked me what kind of a book I would most like to
publish, the genre I would most like to be known for, I would have to say that
I would like to be known as a children’s author.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d be over the moon to be able to tell a
story like Kate DiCamillo does or Roald Dahl or Brian Selznick or J.K. Rowling
or Neil Gaiman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the imagination
behind children’s fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the
idea that parents are flawed, that animals talk and that little boys can live
in clock towers or become wizards or be raised in graveyards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a magical genre and I want to be a
magician. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Writing for children satisfies the part of me that is
unwilling to grow up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or is it unable? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I sit down to work on a children’s story
I feel a certain sense of melancholy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it’s fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m afraid that I want it so badly that I’ll
never get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I’m 12 years
old with my eye on a new bike and only 3 dollars in my piggy bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want the bike, I’m working for the bike,
but there’s no guarantee that I’ll ever get the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing is that if I don’t do the work I
remove the possibility.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Possibilities are what children’s books are all about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I watched Neil Gaiman’s 2012 commencement speech ‘Make
Good Art’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He talked about worry and how
it kept him from enjoying the journey some of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s keeping me from enjoying the journey as
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I’m in the same stratosphere
as Mr. Gaiman as a writer but he is also a human who worries sometimes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve decided that I am a multi-faceted writer just as I am a
multi-faceted person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have to
pick one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just have to make good
art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-27429260039246915472013-05-17T11:25:00.000-07:002013-05-17T11:25:24.137-07:00Seeda single bloom<br />
red upon stone<br />
afraid to pluck it<br />
in case there are no more<br />
it withers where it grows<br />
instead of spreading seeds<br />
just a momentary thrill<br />
amidst the cracks<br />
out of place<br />
and ill suited<br />
dried up and then forgottenbookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-82062142829647406642013-05-17T11:16:00.000-07:002013-05-17T11:16:18.341-07:00AbyssUnable to bridge the gap<br />
between longing and outcome<br />
I lie transfixed<br />
by the ceiling and the way the gray light<br />
leaves smudges in the corners.<br />
Wanting isn't enough<br />
to pull the curtains<br />
let the light in<br />
face the day.<br />
It's not enough<br />
to get out of my own way.<br />
And so the wanting sits<br />
like a parasite to my host<br />
feeding from within<br />
and laying waste to desire<br />
leaving only the burning.<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-52603808657004034662013-04-03T20:06:00.000-07:002013-04-03T20:06:33.212-07:00A new take on Maudlin Manor
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once upon a time ago</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There lived a pair of twins</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rotten little apples</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stuck their dolls with pins</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They looked like little angels</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wrapped in silk and pearls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But they were rotten little devils</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Masquerading as little girls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They lived in the house called Maudlin</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A family name I suppose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But suited to the children</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So very lachrymose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They have a nasty habit</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of staring straight ahead</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They may have been alive once</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now they’re very dead</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They haunt the Maudlin Manor</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walk the creaky floors</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Open up the windows</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Slam the wooden doors</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take things that they shouldn’t </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And hide them where they can</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walk from room to room </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Always holding hands</div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-18902721391797244322013-04-02T18:52:00.000-07:002013-04-02T18:52:48.112-07:00The Story of Maudlin Manor Pt. 1 - 3
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once on a night of cold regret</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I walked a country road</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met a man who offered a ride</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Said that it was warmer inside</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Said to get in out of the wet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’d take me as far as I wanted to go</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at the man and took his measure</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he seemed a decent chap</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain beat down in quick succession</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Led me to take his proffered suggestion</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shook his hand and called it a pleasure</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then removed my cap</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We drove for a bit in the downpour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the wipers went to and fro</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The night grew deeper around us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The forest began to surround us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I said that I’d been there once before</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I knew where I wanted to go</div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-30336052542469864242013-04-01T20:18:00.000-07:002013-04-01T20:19:33.147-07:00The Peculiar Playground a poem in the style of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A is for Alice who wanted to play</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
B is for Bonnie who sent her away</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
C is for Cathy who tried to fit in</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
D is for Doris unspeakably thin</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
E is for Eli who breaks out in zits</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
F is for Francis falling in fits</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
G is for Gary horribly fat</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
H is for Helen attracted to that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I is for Ina talks through her nose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
J is for Jimmy with terrible toes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
K is for Kristin caught in the act</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
L is for Larry who helped her with that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
M is for Mary nose in a book</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
N is for Neville most likely a crook</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
O is for Owen whose hair is all wrong</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P is for Polly whose arms are too long</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Q is for Quentin thinks he’s a looker</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
R is for Ruthie a cult finally took her</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
S is for Susan too full of her self</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
T is for Thomas who thinks he’s an elf</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
U is for Uri constantly stutters</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
V is for Victor mind in the gutter</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
W is for Wendy who’s absent alot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
X is for Xander who’s here when he’s not</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Y is for Ying of foreign exchange</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Z is for Zoe just slightly deranged</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-84464653763512589502013-01-17T18:03:00.001-08:002013-01-17T18:03:49.986-08:00Excerpt from The Flight of Sebastian Bean
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Flight of Sebastian Bean</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">by</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A.D. McDowell</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">S</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">tories like this one
always begin in misery.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">here
was a time when Sebastian Bean had two parents, a beautiful mother and a handsome
father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all lived together in a
tall narrow house on a lovely tree lined street in a fashionable area of a
quaint and historic city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian had
a bedroom of his own and in it he had a wall filled with bookshelves and on the
shelves hundreds of books, so many that his father attached a ladder that
slid on a rail so that Sebastian could reach the books at the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the long window above his desk he
could see all the way to the square in the centre of town where a marble
fountain burbled and people fed the pigeons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And very often in the evenings he would walk with his parents down to
the ice cream shop where he ordered a chocolate peppermint cone that he ate
with great enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At night his
mother would come in and kiss him goodnight and before he fell asleep Sebastian would
say, ‘I am very lucky’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a very, very lucky boy and then all at
once he wasn’t.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One Sunday morning
Sebastian woke to the sun streaming through his window and the birds singing in
the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no reason for him
to think that it wouldn’t be another lucky day in his very lucky life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when he sat up in bed and listened to the
house he was filled with a feeling that he was not used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something wasn’t right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got out of his bed and opened his door and
peered into the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What he saw was
his father talking to Doctor<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor shook his head and put his hand on
the other man's shoulder and patted it twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian stepped farther out into the
hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Father?’ he called and in the
single word were a million questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Go back to your room Sebastian,” said his father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will be in shortly”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian went back to his room and sat on
his bed and the feeling that something was very wrong grew and grew until his
father came in with the news that Sebastian's mother had contracted a terrible
influenza and that he must pack a bag at once and go and stay with his
grandmother, Nanny, so that he didn’t get infected as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had Sebastian known how important what he put
into his suitcase was going to be he would have packed more carefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he was so worried about his mother he
couldn’t think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His father made him wear
a mask across his nose so that he didn’t breathe in any of the germs that had
made his mother sick and as he passed the door to their bedroom Sebastian
called ‘Goodbye mumma.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know
if she heard him and sadly he would never know for his mother died the next
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Over the next while
Sebastian was sadder than I have words to describe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He missed his mother terribly and to make
matters worse it seemed that his father had forgotten him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian remained with his grandmother and
only saw his father from time to time and each time his father seemed more of a
stranger to Sebastian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spoke quietly
and he never remembered to hug Sebastian and always left without taking him
back home. His grandmother told him that his father was sad too and that he
would come around and that time was a great healer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spring went by and turned to summer and
then to autumn and finally to winter and spring again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then one day when Sebastian and his
grandmother were working in her flower beds turning over the black dirt and
getting them ready for planting a long black car snaked its way up the drive
and parked in front of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian
stood and dusted his hands off on the back of his pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door of the car opened and his father
climbed from the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello Sebastian!”
he boomed in the voice he used to use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’ve come to take you home!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sebastian was so surprised that he could not seem to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to run into his father’s arms with
relief, but he couldn’t seem to do anything but stand in one spot with his
mouth hanging open in surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nanny stepped forward and placed her hand on Sebastian’s back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well,” she said, “isn’t this
wonderful.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But her voice didn’t sound
excited, it sounded very much like Sebastian was feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was saying the words but still none of
them moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian’s father stood
there grinning and Sebastian stood in the same place and his grandmother stood
behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may have stood this way
for a good long time had the other door on the car not opened with a creak
capturing their attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Arthur,” said a dark
velvet voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Will you help me
out?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian’s father hurried to the
other side of the car and extended his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A gloved hand appeared and wrapped itself around his father’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Mr. Bean raised his hand a long thin woman
was revealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wore a tight fitting
skirt and had an ostrich plume in her hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She had a long thin nose to match the rest of her and a wide red
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sebastian,” said his father,
“there is someone I’d like you to meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is, well it’s your, I should say... my... wife...your
stepmother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the air in Nanny’s
yard became very still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the birds
were shocked into silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello
Sebastian,” purred the thin woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It
is such a pleasure to meet you at last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Arthur has told me so many things about you I feel as if I know you
already.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her voice dripped all over
Sebastian and she smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still had
not moved a muscle although his mind had begun to race inside of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This person, this stepmother person was going
to live with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sleep in their house,
in his mother’s bed, use her things, sit in her chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No it couldn’t be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as he watched his father’s face and saw
him smiling at the thin woman he realized it was real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horribly, awfully real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled at Sebastian revealing a row of
well manicured teeth and he was somewhat relieved to see that they weren’t
pointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m afraid it’s come as a
shock to you,” the thin woman went on, “Arthur, shame on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told you he should have been warned.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last Sebastian found his voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s nice to meet you,” he managed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Bean stepped closer to Sebastian and
ruffled his hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s alright aren’t
you son?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sebastian was so surprised at
being ruffled by his father that he, for a moment, forgot to be shocked at the
situation that was presenting itself in Nanny’s garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been so long since Arthur Bean had
shown his son any affection at all that Sebastian didn’t quite know how to
respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little boys aren’t so different
than puppies really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if you haven’t
paid much attention to it a puppy will always forgive his owner at the first
sign of kindness and that is exactly what Sebastian did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that split second he looked at his father
and smiled and thought ‘maybe it will be alright’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor Sebastian, he was so happy for a little
affection he didn’t even hear the other car door open until a very fat and
freckly kind of a voice said, “When is lunch, I’m hungry.”</span></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-52039962679167377862013-01-13T17:27:00.000-08:002013-01-13T17:27:39.092-08:00Beginnings and Excerpts
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear reader, won’t you dwell with me within these lines upon
the page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Follow me down cobbled lanes
and up the street where fevers rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tiny thieves with clever hands play their games of chance and
tricks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eyes made shrewd beyond their
years, little liars, candlewicks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Join
their ranks or risk the outcome. Learn their ways or spill the blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way to leave this burrough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless the bleeders give you up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hasty choices led you to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live this life of fine regret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The die is cast the fate has twisted. Paid in
full this pauper’s debt. </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-91138805388520344122013-01-13T14:55:00.000-08:002013-01-13T14:55:01.095-08:00Beginnings
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
....and as I got closer the landscape began dying, trees
lost their leaves and the air was frigid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Suddenly the carriage drew to a halt. It heaved and tilted as the driver
climbed down then pulled my bag from its strapping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is as far as I go miss,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stay on the road straight through, it’s not
much farther.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stepped out of the
carriage and into the gathering fog. “Can you not take me the rest of the way?”
I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll not catch me in there,”
he said climbing back up into his seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He looked down at me and a shadow crossed his features. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then in a more kindly way he added, “It’s not
too late to change your mind miss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Climb
back in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t charge you for the
return.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paused without meaning to and
then drew myself up and replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
are very kind sir, but I’m sure I shall be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you very much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stepped back from the lane and he tipped
his hat and turned the horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they
left me I felt the overwhelming urge to run after them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The branches overhead moved to a breeze that didn’t reach
the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed they whispered to
me as I began to walk towards what was to be my new home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-91782292762182259062012-11-30T09:49:00.000-08:002012-11-30T09:49:11.533-08:00Best Day Ever
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I was the kind of diarist who could draw clever
cartoons or renderings of beautiful houses or hilarious sayings in the margins
of my journals but I’m not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I glue things in first
and then write over top of that but mostly I just write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the best way I know to get rid of the
junk in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I journal because I get
to say anything I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Say it badly if I
want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Write the word FUCK in big fat
letters or scribble all over the page or complain about friends or whine about
myself and my moods and be melancholy as I want to be but lately it seems that
I’ve gotten into the habit of being in the melancholy state a little too
often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t do it on purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve just always been that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Being
happy is one of the saddest things that can happen to a person.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is so good it’s goddamn scary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am one of those lucky people who has it
pretty damn great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my husband for
starters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he is gorgeous and
kind and smart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a good man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a gentle man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And those characteristics are getting harder
and harder to come by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids are
amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re all wonderful
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re respectful and careful
with people’s feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laugh
together and genuinely like each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not to say we haven’t had our moments we wouldn’t be normal if we hadn’t
but by and large everything is A. O. K. So.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why am I sad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sad all the time, but probably about half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the song says I was born this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t court melancholia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I count my blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am keenly aware of the eventuality of
it all and it’s a terrible habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
like being at the greatest party you’ve ever been to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The music is pumping, the mood is
jubilant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are dancing and
laughing and no one is overly drunk or annoying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re having so much fun you don’t want the
night to end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you don’t stand in the
corner thinking how sad it is that such a great party will be over soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you sing some
karaoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you go home saying to one another
“God that was great!!! We should do it more often!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If life is a party maybe I shouldn’t be
watching the clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living in the moment
is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is it that it’s so much
easier to look backwards or forwards instead of just enjoying the party?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Catastrophic thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having happiness is the strange bedfellow of catastrophic
thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always use the butterfly
analogy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I talk about love to my
kids I always tell them that love is like holding a butterfly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you hold it gently it will flutter and
tickle your palms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you hold it too
tightly you’ll kill it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same is true
of life in general.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hold on too tight
and you kill the joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just holding
too tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want it to end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to lose my husband or god forbid
a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to live a long life with
Ken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want our kids to live long,
healthy, happy lives as well and I want them to find someone who loves them
like we love each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just don’t
want the party to be over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband has taken up Kiteboarding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guys he rides with have a saying ‘best
day ever’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t really matter if
the conditions were ideal they always end the day the same way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Best day ever.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a shift in consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it applies to everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Best job ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best sandwich
ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best nap ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you it’s easy to say that now knowing
that I’m heading to the lake tonight and that I’ll be sitting on my patio with
my husband celebrating 28 years of best days ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be alot harder when I’m at work next
week and people need things from me yesterday and the dog has peed on the
floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for right this minute, when
everyone I love is safe it’s the best day ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-55358368843327021782012-11-12T19:19:00.001-08:002012-11-12T19:19:39.019-08:00On an Otherwise Ordinary Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5G6aSKokNWRV66upng0bvNMoUnLZq0yEJ4kBtGuPB6sGM719yjCCL-CGRFmb37JOwcM8BFXZjUDac5eGlU6_hC7xPBk0B3cbS8YZIlv1LFU2nbK30pLwKkJ-ECcSNkKjOewZXqO_ZVA/s1600/SAM_1162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5G6aSKokNWRV66upng0bvNMoUnLZq0yEJ4kBtGuPB6sGM719yjCCL-CGRFmb37JOwcM8BFXZjUDac5eGlU6_hC7xPBk0B3cbS8YZIlv1LFU2nbK30pLwKkJ-ECcSNkKjOewZXqO_ZVA/s320/SAM_1162.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-74129034270034751832012-11-12T19:16:00.000-08:002012-11-12T19:16:57.530-08:00The End of the Beginning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-994630358391917792012-10-31T17:24:00.000-07:002012-10-31T17:24:25.281-07:00A Ghost Story<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somewhere in this house a child is laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Footsteps run down the hall above me then
stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then start again followed by the
laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know who she is, only
that she will not leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have asked
her to go many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve tried to be
reasonable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve asked her what she
wants but it’s as if she doesn’t hear me at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She only stops and looks, then smiles and
runs away and up the stairs to resume her game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
afraid that she will never leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
used to be a peaceful house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She doesn’t
care about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wants only to play
and to laugh and to torment me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are times when I wish that I wasn’t quite so dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-21193757370277530372012-09-30T18:46:00.000-07:002012-09-30T18:46:08.152-07:00In DreamsPt. 1<br />
<br />
I walked through a forest<br />
<br />
of naked trees<br />
<br />
shorn of their needles<br />
<br />
skeleton keys<br />
<br />
left to unlock<br />
<br />
the salted ground<br />
<br />
with snowflakes<br />
<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-30830028076669454232012-09-11T04:53:00.000-07:002012-10-02T10:53:39.646-07:00The House on Dorsey Street<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a house on Dorsey Street</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve passed it many times</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And each time I find it weeping</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Raining rivers from windows</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unused to the sun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What sadness resides</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within those walls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That it leaks so uncontrollably</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve heard the stories</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whispered from one ear to another</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And seen the way passersby speed their steps</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking over tweed clad shoulders and upturned collars</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lest they be recognized by what lies within</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is after all only
a house, although</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I wonder</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My footsteps slow as I near the facade</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now and then I stop and grasp the iron gate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gaze at one
another forlornly the house and I</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As if we were lovers kept apart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By unrelenting parents who misunderstand our kinship</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And think it something dirty and ill intended</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something frightening perhaps</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wants me back that
much is true</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To walk the floors and hide behind curtains</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or in closets, safer there we thought</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The house and I</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so we pine for one another</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what might have been</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what happened there once</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that she tried to protect me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I always thought so</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Offering up her secrets</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now that she is empty she cries because she couldn’t </div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-53195214823027638882012-08-22T05:36:00.000-07:002012-08-22T05:36:23.961-07:00In Lieu of Flowers
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry for your loss she said</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I was unsure of my response</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so nodded as though inconsolable</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lest she see the mirth behind </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The watery eyes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she must have been convinced</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because she touched my arm and left</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The casket lid was propped for viewing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A ritual insane in its design</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A corpse in maquillage</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lay still while mourners and other guests</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watch for signs of decay</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And comment on how good she looks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To hide their embarrassment</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And still I want to laugh</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I press a hankie to my face</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To stem the flow </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hysteria they think</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sympathetic glances cover me in</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hives and I shake my head and sniff</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone is singing now</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something about redemption</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Atonement and that sort of thing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And suddenly I want to scream</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you really think it matters now?</div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-89446963930208621562012-08-21T19:30:00.000-07:002012-08-21T19:30:22.760-07:00Withheld<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I am watching </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the way the ink bleeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Dripped from a pen </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
poised </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
in hesitation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Held by a shaking hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The grip is weak, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the words unspoken,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>held fast in thirsty parchment.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-90496655298721052862012-08-15T19:03:00.001-07:002012-08-15T19:03:31.990-07:00Ash<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Today I saw someone</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Defeated</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Burnt down to embers </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Too cold to ignite</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Hope</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Extinguished </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And in the empty
grayness</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Loneliness</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Aloneness</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Laying in the ash</div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-69185794579039823032012-08-09T11:38:00.000-07:002012-08-09T11:38:48.093-07:00Train<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Waiting on the
platform for the 10:15</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She touches a hand to
her hair </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And checks her
lipstick twice</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Winds her watch</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And looks impatiently
down the line.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She tries to read in
vain, a novel somewhat comedic.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Words slip past sliding
by eyes withdrawn and thoughtful.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
So much can be hidden
in the act of holding a book.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The pretence frees
her mind and a smile plays across her mouth</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Lifting the corners
slightly.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She removes a compact
from the depth of her bag</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and presses powder across her cheeks to dim
the pink anticipation.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The time is 10:05.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
10 minutes.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Emotions skitter
across her frame, chasing each other like puppies. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She turns the page of
the book she isn’t reading. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She can hear the
rumble in the distance and as she stands she smoothes </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
the creases from her
skirt.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her shoes are new and
she hopes he notices.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A young woman has
come out onto the platform. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She is holding the
hand of a child who is jumping in place.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
“Hush,” the young
woman says, “it’s coming.”</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Nervous now, she
straightens her coat and pats her hair once more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And as she does the
young woman with the child looks over</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
and the two exchange
a smile.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Others drift out onto
the platform, bored or expectant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Watches are
wound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Books returned to bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hands are held or let go of.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The train thunders
into view, a relief and a disappointment.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Metallic sounds
shriek and hiss then stop and huff as though exhausted.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Doors sigh and stairs
are lowered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Places are exchanged with
those waiting.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She sees him amidst
the clouds and her heart quickens.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
He takes long strides
down the platform toward her.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
He smiles and she
responds in spite of herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And as he moves
beyond her, pulls the young woman</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
and child into a firm
embrace the smile falters</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
then withers, then
dies. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
She lowers her gaze
and lifts a hand to her hair,</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
looks down at her
shoes and boards the train.</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-49893659603912470652012-08-09T09:48:00.000-07:002012-08-09T09:48:20.297-07:00I Am a Writer<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am a writer.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m a writer because</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I put words on paper.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I find joy in blank
pages and the</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Words that appear
like magic</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Just because I want
them to.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m a writer because </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
the thoughts in my
head find relief in running free</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Across unlined fields
of parchment or kraft</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Or sometimes canvas.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m writer because I
read.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I take comfort in
words, letters, vowels and verbs</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I swim in them and
sometimes they</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Swallow me whole.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m a writer because
I do so.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I write whether it’s
correct or incorrect </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Or jumbled</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Or even very good.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I write because it’s
part of who I am.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It’s how I am and
because I write</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m learning to
ignore the other voices that yell at me</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And scream things
like </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
STOP!!!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
YOU SUCK!! YOU’RE TOO
OLD!!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
YOU HAVE NOTHING TO
SAY!!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!! </b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And just write
anyway.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Because really, why
wouldn’t I?</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am writer.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-1452620466917283212012-08-08T19:48:00.000-07:002012-08-08T19:48:08.416-07:00The Curiosity Chronicles - Excerpt<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
The
Curiosity Chronicles</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
The
Gallery of the Obscure</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
You will need to prepare for a
story like this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stories like this one
should be read at night, long past your bedtime, preferably during a
thunderstorm and by the light of a candle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But if your parents are the overprotective type a flashlight will
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
If you look around the room you are
in right now and think about it you are probably warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve probably had a delicious supper and
possibly dessert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And very likely as you
begin this story and huddle beneath your blankets you are in your own room and you
pulled this very book from your own bookshelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You likely have a parent or two somewhere in your house possibly making
your lunch for tomorrow or folding your clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps they even tucked you into bed and kissed
you goodnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now close your eyes for a
moment and imagine that it was all gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Imagine that all you owned fit in the knapsack that is lounging on the
chair in the corner and that your parents aren’t there at all but traipsing
through the jungles of Costa Rica or climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro simply because
they liked the sound of the word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
now imagine that they had forgotten you completely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can picture all of this then you might
be able to imagine what life was like for the Cornell children and how much
they longed for what you have right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pity I wouldn’t give it to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I couldn’t could I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who would
want to read a story about 3 children who had everything they could have wanted
and dressed in lovely clothes and had holidays at the beach with their equally
lovely parents?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And so the story I am about to tell you is about 3 children whose
parents didn’t want them at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact
they hadn’t seen their parents in so long that they had forgotten what they
looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I should rephrase that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tried very hard to forget what their
parents looked like because sometimes it is less painful to forget a thing than
to remember it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6613438294466976461.post-56081428906388580512012-08-08T19:30:00.000-07:002012-08-08T19:30:22.650-07:00Letting Go<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Letting go today</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of false friends and</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Unfulfilled promises</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of hopeless things</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I thought better of</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of an image I don’t
possess</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Or have access to</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of ugly feelings</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Alarm bells</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And melancholy</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And should have beens</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Letting go of
nothings</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of poisoned words dripping
off</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A willing pen</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of cold realizations</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And harboured
thoughts</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of rejection</div>
<br />bookishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07972033888371345128noreply@blogger.com0