here i go again …

submitting poetry to big(ger) publications.

here’s to waiting 6+ months to see if one, or both will be published in the new yorker.

the thing that sucks isn’t the waiting, in fact, that’s the best part because i forget completely and therefore all attachment dissolves. the thing that sucks is that i sent them two poems i ended up really, really loving and want to put them into my poetry book, which i might publish before they reject me. and then those two gems are left behind.

then again, i could just keep accumulating more work until then, it depends.

the novel is taking center stage in my time and attention lately anyway.

‘ghost stories’ anthology

i am working on two stories for this anthology, actually. one is a collaboration, and one is by only me. i’m in the editing process of this one, having completed it some weeks ago. i’ll be finishing up editing it by tonight (i hope) and sending it in. we’ll see what happens; i’ll find out in august or september.

meanwhile, i’ve been working on my own full-length novel (top secret) and gathering content for my poem book. and feeling somewhat out-of-body.

here’s an excerpt of one of the ghost story’s i’m submitting to a small publication, it’s called “those nocturnal hours

Continue reading “‘ghost stories’ anthology”

like a stone

this blog is for writing poetry and stories.

i’ve been missing from here lately, because i’ve devoted a lot more time to personal endeavors (working on several short stories, self publishing the poetry book i’ve mentioned, and finishing a full-length novel.) i’ve also been depressed. i usually would have never admitted that, but in this place is feels anonymous enough. i’ve also been toiling over a few new poems, but i’m here to acknowledge someone else’s work. someone no longer with us.

although i was struck harder by bowie and cohen this year, especially cohen since his music and his words have had an influence on my own, chris cornell was like a drafty candle in the background of a lot of the musical influences in my youthful memories. his bands occasionally had hits that i’d listen to on repeat. he was a poet, and not many know that.

this song is one of the best songs ever written, obviously not one of the best videos. many people have moved on from it still believing it’s a love song — it’s not. it’s about death. and since he has died it is a privilege to see into his mind even from many years ago. the video is amusingly early 2000’s with the lack of skinny jeans and manicured facial hair, but i hope that he’s finally where he wants to be.

on a cobweb afternoon
   in a room full of emptiness
      by a freeway I confess
           i was lost in the pages
               of a book full of death
                    reading how we’ll die alone
                       and if we’re good, we’ll lay to rest
                             anywhere we want to go

“she brings curses” will be featured in “entombed in verse: an epitaph for salem.”

some months ago, i wrote a poem for an anthology chiefly interested in salem history (no, not this one!) and it was accepted for publication. it’ll be featured in the upcoming book named above. you can find more details about it [HERE]. that will apparate you to a pre-order page, but you can read the gist of the atmosphere of the book. and yes, i did just use a harry potter term.

i am so fucking delighted about being in that book. i love salem. since one of my best bitches lives not far from there, i’ve gone plenty of times. salem also has the best indian restaurant EVER IN THE GALAXY (besides the one in california i used to frequent in my past life.)  it’s called passage to india, and if you’re ever in town, go.

i’ve also always been fascinated with the history of the place, which should come as no surprise considering i adore most all things macabre, relating to behavioral psychology or criminal as a bonus, mysterious and wretched in history.

the title was inspired by the username of a past writing partner of mine who i loved working with, who is one of the best writers i’ve ever met. she used to write as a witch and i as a magician in our stories. she knows who she is. although, she may never read this.

here’s a small excerpt:

She is the ratty crone who dwells in tears
intruding up the mildew walls of sick-dreams,
like howling veins bulging for a snake-bite
shuddering to the open grin of a white moon

currently working on:

  • self-publishing my poetry book; dancing around with different designs, sparring with words that want to, need to be said, all tangled up with an impatience to have it mystically accomplished in under an (unrealistic) hour. this is largely for my daughters. as i’ve mentioned, it’s an epitaph in the event that my medical condition goes south quicker than what is expected. it isn’t expected to, but in my life the unexpected has been in the front lines. my life’s an infantry.
  • another horror short story for an indie publishing company. (i’ll post an excerpt eventually.)
  • considering posting the rest of ‘the horseman’ as one large post rather than continuing the ‘series’ style of post.
  • more poems, of course.
  • believing in something other than fatigue & pain.

i’ve been so isolated for a very, very long time that i sometimes stumble on my words in public and for this end up avoiding speaking. i deliberately go in public, but avoid people, because i love being outside. i live in a very interesting area with access to a lot of history and oddities; if you haven’t noticed, i’m into that.

i have been inwardly and outwardly cringing for so long though, and for so many reasons that have piled on my shoulders, making me feel like atlas, that i’m finding it difficult to finally relax now that i can and the world’s off my watch. i’ve had burdens and depression, anxiety, too long to just forget them and think they’re like smoke, just dissipating. i know better than that. the mind leaves leaves marks on itself, like falling asleep on a crease of your pillow. the dent takes time to soften.

i am true introvert and INFJ. this reminds me that i need to refresh my studies of carl jung. he had the same personality type as me, supposedly, and i fell in love with his work many years ago. introversion has nothing to do with being shy. it has to do with your reaction to stimulation. i am very easily overstimulated by loud noise, bright lights, too many people (or is that just my migraines?) — too much to focus on. i want to absorb things too readily. i think it’s because i like to pay close attention to things, one at a time, and end up doing so all at once. i’ve also read that introverts brains tend to pick up on all stimulation as animate (something to pay attention to.) rather than inanimate (looked over.), and therefore they hardly are letting their brain rest. my brain/mind seems to never rest. i wasn’t always like this.

not to mention i have two beautiful demons who need my energy as well.

speak of the devil …

 

hello boys & ghouls

although i will attempt to update periodically with new poems/stories or excerpts from books i’m working on (i’ll be deciding which half-written brainchild will have my full creative attention to transmute into a true novel, until it’s entirely complete, as soon as there’s time to breathe again.) i’ll be M.I.A. for a bit. this will keep a few of my projects either in purgatory, or as i’ve mentioned before chipped away at very, very slowly.

as most of you know there’s my big move, a huge hike back up north coming up (finally.) but not just that anymore. a few other issues have popped up that will be soaking my time and weighing me down. i’m not that prolific of an update-queen in the first place, but i wanted you to know that if i’m liking your stuff and commenting a million years after you’ve posted it, this is why. i love playing catch up, but i won’t have too much time, all the time. so eventually i will be stalking you. expect it. ♥

 

she said there’d be moaning

a grief ago, i decided that it would be best to braid myself with a sort of unconnected, and consequently isolated, sensation of detachment from people, places, things. basically all nouns, perhaps even some verbs. an eastern perfect emptiness. the cosmic voice of alan watts soothing me back to sedation. it was more suited to my personality type to become this way. maybe i was too feral. i’ve been told that i was a very willful child. i still am.

here lies a tired blahblahblah.

Continue reading “she said there’d be moaning”