To Be Continued ...

The crisp fall air punctuated the moment, an exclamation point with every sharp breath.

“What happened?” he squealed.

Her breathing was even, slow drags in and out off an invisible cigarette. Her heart rate didn’t elevate. But she had started out so fervent.

“Something was chasing me.” Flora said.

“Well what is it?” Jeremy asked. His voice was two pitches too high.

As Flora examined the broken bones and oozes that was once a creature she came to no definite conclusion.

“Something.”

“Well is it dead?” Jeremy had been driving the car, looking for flora when he struck the thing. Flora bolted when it showed its ugly mug to them the first time during an evening make out session in the woods. While in the backseat of a warm car, something shook the vehicle. Not aggressively, just slightly. Enough for Flora to notice, enough for her to wipe the condensation off the window and look outside. It was something, something unfathomable.

“Pretty sure it’s not getting back up, how fast were you going?” Flora exhaled and was delighted in the steam of her breath accenting the navy blue sky, illuminated by blaring headlights. It was like her breath was trapped by the headlights, unable to progress. She notices the thing produced no such vapor.

“Hey shouldn’t this carcass be giving off steam if it’s oozing like this?”

There were too many questions aimed at Jeremy and he couldn’t dodge them all. His mind raced and words came out in hurried breaths. Trying to get as much information out at a time.

“I was worried about you. I was driving pretty fast, wasn’t really paying attention.” He paused, pregnant. “It should be steaming. The flesh looks weird.”

Flora’s mind watched the carcass pump the last of its vital juices. She watched the hard, cold ground resist the poison before accepting and absorbing.

“I…” She thought how not to make Jeremy’s voice rise to yet an even higher decibel level. “I think it was dead before you hit it.” It sounded ludicrous leaving her lips.   

Jeremy’s mind went into overdrive and started rejecting her thoughts, she had no concern, maybe she was a part of it.

“What like someone just threw a dead thing in front of my car?” He put his hands involuntarily on his hips. “Oh no, wait, maybe it’s a remote control dead thing and someone is getting a rise out of us.”

He swiveled his hips, shrugged and made an annoying pppffffttt sound. Disbelief is a weird thing.

“Mocking me is not going to make this situation any less confusing.” Her voice was mellow, clinical. “Should we take it with us? Maybe take it to someone who can figure out what it is? It WAS following me.”

“I’m not putting that nasty thing in my car. Just leave it. We can bring someone back to it. It’s fairly large; I don’t think anything is going to take off with it.” It might have been a dog or a wolf, neither could place its face. Flora looked it dead in its milky whites but couldn’t place anything else.

“Okay, well then I guess we should probably get out of these woods. Would you mind taking me home?”

With senses returning and his high voice diminishing, Jeremy became focused, once again on Flora.

“Well, we just went through a traumatic experience, are you sure you don’t want to, maybe, talk about it or get a coffee.”

Flora glared at him,

“You truly have a penis, don’t you?” Her voice finally raised and curled and kicked with venom.

He laughed and tried to put his arms around her as they returned to the car.

Their voices were carried up and away, above the trees, the cold air compounding on it, crushing it, forgetting it.

“Don’t touch me,” Flora spat.

The car spitted and turned, started and moaned. The dead thing passed under its axles, untouched.  Headlights streamed, emphasized by the chill of air.  Dirt and rock crushed under slow moving tires. Dust was tossed and lost in the slight autumn breeze.

Night fell harder, becoming a consuming darkness. The car was long gone. The dead trees stirred as movement was found within them.

Eyes spied the dead thing, demolished by man and their machines.

“Lucky, what happened?” A deep voice uttered into the black. The voice reached down and scooped up the annihilated, indecipherable creature and cradling it to its chest, the voice sauntered back into the welcoming woods, back into the black.

Dealing with Rejection - From an aspiring writer’s perspective

***** I wrote this a long time ago as a mantra to remind myself and have a system in place for when I started submitting pieces. What this article does not mention is that print media is dying, all "writing" jobs require years of experience or pay you jack and you will eventually live a life in debt, alcoholism and working jobs that don't really afford you a career. *****

Not everyone is going to love your writing style; in fact there will be some people that will hate it. These are the cold hard facts of dipping your hand into writing. You may work hard and long on a piece only to have to thrown back at you with numerous red marks. You may get flustered that a piece didn’t come out the way you wanted it to, but then get compliments on a job well-done.

There is never an easy or clear way to know if what you did was exceptional. The key in writing is to learn from your mistakes. There are very simple measures to be taken before you can deem yourself worthy of a writer’s title.

1. READ. You have to read to understand writing. Read everything, from magazine articles to novels to memoirs. Read articles on how to write, read articles on how to read. Read articles from magazines, newspapers especially journals you are even considering writing for.

There have been so many cases where a writer submits one of their favorite pieces to a magazine or journal only to have it thrown back at them, because it doesn’t fit the magazines persona. Unless you have your own magazine or journal you have to work your writing into the style and flavor of the proposed literary medium.

2. STUDY. This does not mean to analyze your own writing, but instead to work with someone else more experienced than you to help you understand why that paragraph doesn’t work or why that sentence doesn’t make sense. Never let your eyes be the only eyes to read your piece before it is submitted.

Don’t just work with someone and make the corrections they suggest. Ask questions; understand why you need to change something why that opening lead doesn’t work, why your piece comes across as stiff and boring. Learn so you won’t do it again in the future.

3. PROOFREAD. By the time you’re ready to submit a piece you should almost be able to recite it. You’ve got to read it over and over again until you’re so disgusted with the piece you’d almost rather set it on fire than submit it.

With proofreading it still helps to have numerous eyes reviewing your piece. Pass it around let professionals and friends read it. If it’s going to be published there will be a lot of different people from different backgrounds perusing it. So make sure everyone can understand the flow.

After you go through your own personal hell to submit a piece, don’t get offended if it gets returned to you and is deemed unfit for publication. Most big publications get so many submissions it’s very rare for anyone to get in depth comments about why their piece does not match the magazine or journal.

However, some people are out for blood and they will rip your piece to shreds. Once again don’t take it too personal, pull the constructive criticism from the nastiness.

In short, writing is a lot about growth, change and adaptation. Try not to take everything personal and develop your craft. It’s a hard, dirty, frustrating job, but somebody’s got to love to do it.

United We Stand Divided We Fall

America is a country divided, grown too big for it's britches. What once was a horrific event that bonded us as a nation is, 10 years later, a dividing rod. People dismissing the event as a conspiracy, dismissing the event all together, denying the lives lost any compensation.

It sickens me that we were all once so close and now we all can't even agree on the Pledge of Allegiance. That was the best part of my day as a kid. I would still be groggy, rubbing sleep from my eyes when we'd get to stand up, get the blood flowing and with our hands over our hearts, heads held high, eyes zeroed in on the American flag we would announce:

I pledge allegiance

To the flag

Of the United States of America

And to the Republic

For which it stands

One nation

Under God

Indivisible

With Liberty and justice for all.

I don't believe in God, sorry I was raised Catholic and rebelled. But I honestly don't take offense to the Pledge of Allegiance. You know why? Because it's history. I love history. I loved being a kid and being a part of something and I’m sad my kids won't have that connection. It would appear no American has that connection anymore. We are divided by the extremists and the crackpots, the devout and the anarchists, the elitists and the military. Our nation is a mess, tearing itself apart. We are divisible.

There is no unifying factor anymore. There is no one event, symbol or thought that will make people who recognize themselves as American stand up and take notice. A lot of people living in this country won't even recognize themselves as American. I doubt they'd stand up for the Anthem at a sports event and I'm doubtful children today even know the words or have any unifying connection to their country.

It's some weird Christianity effect. When the Christians were cornered by the Romans they would either deny their faith and live or stand up for their faith and die. I know a lot of people who travel to other countries and say they are Canadian instead of American to avoid the rolling eyes of other people.

How sad is that?

How sad is it to say you support our troops but want them home? That's an oxymoron. If you supported our troops you would support their endeavors. They are doing a job. A job they have to believe is good or else lose all hope. By demolishing what they are doing you are pulling the carpet out from under them. I support our troops, our police and our firefighters. I have been connected to various loved ones involved in all those veins of service.

I still don't understand why those who bang their drums and scream from the rooftops all that is wrong with this country won't move to another country. Armenia forces you into the military for 2 years if you're a male between 18-27 years old. Austria also makes it mandatory for males between 18-35 to serve in the military for a minimum of 6 months. Conscientious Objectors are not excused and must join the civilian service for 9 months minimum. Belarus requires men between the ages of 18-27 to serve for 18 months if they don't have higher education and 12 months if they do. Bermuda maintains it's local forces with a lottery of men between 18-32 who serve for 4 years. In beautiful Brazil you're required to serve 2 years of military service once you're a male who reaches the age of 18, granted there are a lot of exceptions to this rule. Columbia requires if you're a man between 18-24 that you serve 18 months, but you can also volunteer. In The Republic of Cyprus men aged 18-50 that are Greek Cypriot, Armenians, Latins and Maronites serve their country for 2 years and are forever considered reservists after their service. Conscientious Objectors can serve 33 months of unarmed army service or 38 months of community work. Denmark requires all able men usually between the ages 18-27 to serve for 4 months or longer though there are restrictions to this as well and men deemed fit can be called to service up until their 50^th birthday. Egypt requires men between 18-30 to serve in their military for anywhere from 14 to 36 months. If you go to college you can postpone your service until after but if you wait until you are 30 it's to late and you have to pay a fine. The only exempt are the only males in a family, males supporting their parents or males with dual citizenship. Greece has mandatory military service for 9 months for men, Conscientious Objectors serve for 42 months in civilian service. Iran requires men once they reach 16 to serve a minimum of 16 months depending on their location in the country. Israel requires both men and women to serve. All Israel citizens at the age of 18 must serve - men for 3 years, women for 2 years. South Korea is also mandatory military at the age of 18 for males for 21 months Conscientious Objectors are imprisoned. Mexico now requires all males reaching the age of 18 to sign up for the military for one year, though the position in the military is done by lottery. Norway requires men between 18.5 and 44 to serve 19 months. Russia has a mandatory 12 months of service between 18-27 on a drafted basis but there are loopholes to getting out. In Singapore men 18-21 are required to serve for 24 months. Switzerland makes men do a series of military training and exercises in the military totaling 260 days for privates. Conscientious Objectors serve 390 days of volunteer work. In Turkey males between the ages of 20-41 serve 15 months for privates, 12 months for reserve officers and 6 months for short term privates. Conscientious Objection is illegal in Turkey. The Ukraine allow males to either serve in reserve officer training for 2 years or regular military service for one year.

So before you go bashing our country and our military know that our military service is voluntary and you should be happy you live in a country that allows the freedoms you so love to take for granted.

When the towers came down everyone in America should have taken notice. To see people jumping to their deaths to escape a worse fate. To see people covered in the ash of what was a part of the iconic skyline of New York City. To see the families destroyed, the lives lost, the city in tears should have pulled some heart string in every American. The fact that 10 years later, people want to discuss the lies, conspiracies and conditions surrounding the attacks is heartbreaking. We are a nation that does not stand as one, that cannot grieve together a loss. United We Stand. Divided We Fall.

Places I've lived (Ugh, Poetry)

Hawaii In Summer

The sun breaks in the mornings

It spills lemonade over broccoli

an egg cracked on the Ko’olaus

and fried over Koko Head

it’s gold, bright

I’d be a millionaire, billionaire

if only I could capture the gold in Hawaii’s sun.

It demands the stand-alone colors

to be vibrant, beautiful.

The mountains are emeralds

the plumerias rubies

the sky sapphires

the ocean blue topaz, aquamarine

Birds chirp too loudly

sing with full-breasted songs.

The world is naked

revealed in this blinding white light.

Oceans grow warm in the heat

The sun thaws the heart,

forces love to the surface.

When setting,

the sun submerges itself quickly, turning

orange, tangerine, mango, disappearing

fast behind the horizon leaving only

scattered colors of tanzanite, red, orange, pink

in its wake.

Then you sit as waters turn dark and wait

for a flash of green to bring you home.

Nights are spread out, long, lazy

purple. The sky is plum with diamonds

and it moves, it sways like the trees.

Look up, blink, it’s different.

Hawaii is precious stones.

The words live in the breeze there.

It’s sticky, muggy, lovely words.

This is for you,

my first home, my heart.

North Carolina In Winter

Coastal North Carolina at sunset,

is like an upside down bowl, a colorful dome resting

over the hard surface

of roads and highways, cold earth.

The lip of the bowl is dusty

pink, a cliché rose color.

the bottom of the bowl is deep

blue, like the Pacific ocean.

Between the pink and the blue there are layers

Up from the pink are thin

almost indecipherable colors:

purple, orange, red, gold.

The blue covers most of the bowl,

ocean blue, turquoise, baby blue, cerulean.

Hues of Blues.

The sun has a tendency to shine red

setting the top half of the pine trees on fire.

There is a random star, perhaps a sliver of moon.

After the sun sets

and the sky is newly dark.

The crisp air makes things too vivid

surreal

The sky goes beyond dark.

It’s a sucking black.

Fading flickers of wannabe stars sputter and die

street lights illuminate everything but

at the same time nothing, soft colors.

Noise is amplified,

Car doors slam and echo

A sigh is heard by the universe.

The chill is deafening, numbing

Freezes up your heart, keeps it still for a moment.

In early morning before the sun rises

before it looks like there will ever be a sun again.

After the sucking black

has relaxed into a state of comfort.

The stars come out.

Too many, blinking on and off.

Then there is the thumbnail of moon

The hiding shy moon, just over the pine trees.

This is my poetry for North Carolina,

sky bowls and moon nails.

This is what I write for you,

my new home, my South by the sea.

Washington in Fall

Crisp like a brilliant red apple,

Doesn’t describe

Your sharp breath and witty repertoire.

Mornings are vibrant,

The air, a magnifying glass

Turning sunrises into pyrotechnic displays

Of creamsicles, blueberries, raspberries and the decadent blackberries.

The morning churns and spits out

ferries on their daily commute,

fog, a thick blanket

covering the roads

swaddling the cars in motherly love.

The day amasses the shades of gray clouds

Startling reds, oranges, yellows fill the trees’ hungry branches

With shoots of evergreens in-between.

The sky falls to weeping purples,

stars like thumbtacks,

Trying to break through.

City lights skylines reflect over still salt waters.

The stars have fallen

Creating architecture of neon,

Leaning towers of strong mountains

Hilly roads of old spirits.

This is for you my found paradise.

My snow covered mountains and salt water haven

Creamsicles and motherly love,

I have made my home within you.

The Definition of Blog

 

According to the Oxford Dictionary a “blog” is a personal website or web page on which an individual records opinions, links to other sites, etc. on a regular basis.

Some key words to pull from that – personal and opinions – a blog is something that took me years to be convinced was a good thing. I thought blogs were fads and they would slowly fade out. But they haven't and though I hate the name of them, I decided to start one (or two) to better exercise my demons.

I actually liked my wedding and created a blog to discuss my Hawaiian roots, my love for my furry caramel shadow and wedding frustrations, ideas and enjoyments. Working for a wedding company I come across a lot of really cool ideas for wedding and just having a wedding helped me to utilize some nifty things. I also use this blog to vent about the frustrations and issues I had with planning to help any bride-to-be out with their upcoming nuptials. If you don't like me being open and honest about my experiences or you think I'm not being grateful or respectful here's the beauty of blogs, you don't have to read it. This blog is about me and while it is open to comments and I do appreciate hearing peoples thoughts (I love a good debate when it's backed by facts), if you find my personal opinions, thoughts and emotions to be rude, overbearing or “too much,” you can click that little red “x” in the upper right corner and read no further.

My second blog is dedicated to my writing. It's where I'll be throwing up my thoughts on my writing career, my ideas, even some short stores or perhaps dreaded poems. While I do like receiving comments and I will not turn down anyone’s suggestions on writing skills, tactics or a good site for telecommute jobs, please do not tell me what I should be doing with my life. Please do not advise me on how to better my life and that I can reach my goals if I only believe and, you know, actually try.

The truth: I love my life. My life is freaking rad! I just married a amazingly, perfectly weird and wonderful man, I have a pooch who is my life, I have a job that takes care of me and has provided endearing, wonderful friends and I have a life outside of work full of family, friends, concerts, movies, comic books and love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.

It's my blog and I'll vent if I want to. Let me throw my pity party, bridezilla explosion or wailing wisdom around and get it out of my system.

Thank You.

What’s in a Degree?

I find going to school to be a great privilege and opportunity. I have two degrees an Associates and a Bachelor’s. I’m a little obsessed with school. I would love my masters. More importantly I’d love to go back to school for 5 years and get my J.D. and get my masters in intellectual property law. I have lofty goals (still intact).

My major is in English, my minor creative writing. It took me years to settle. I initially was shooting for psychology then it turned to marine biology and finally rested on the haunches of English. I would have preferred journalism, but it wasn’t offered at the closest university where I was living at the time. I drove an hour and a half one way for 2 years to finish my bachelors. That defines my dedication to school.

One of the few pictures of me actually doing what I love.

My degree has not allowed me any jobs – my reporter jobs were brief, my magazine jobs were short-lived. I am not an editor or a reporter or even a copywriter; I am a writer only because I choose to be one. I’ve sat back and heard one of my cousins mock me. Heard her tell my aunt that she thinks an English degree is a useless degree. That if her kids chose English as a major she wouldn’t pay for their college.

It’s a dark time for those who think the pen is mightier than the sword. With no jobs out there and even less jobs in journalism, making headway towards a career has been slow and painful. Whenever I think I’ve gained a footing on my career I slip and fall back down into the canyon of wannabe writers. Unless you have experience, there seems to be no starting footholds in advertising, reporting, writing, newspapers, etc. Sure, you can intern but at 27 and a newlywed, I need to be able to pay my bills. I have an insane work ethic, being without a job makes me uncomfortable. 

When I expressed to my husband that I was upset that I’m 27 without a career, He told me to get one.   Like let’s go grocery shopping, bananas or apples? He told me to get a career and not let them fire me. I started crying.

From FailBlog.org - http://work.failblog.org/

It seems like the only option for English majors if you can’t make it in the advertising, publishing or journalism field is to get your masters and teach. Here is the problem, I’m not a teacher. I don’t want to be one. That is the one career path I put dynamite near the opening cave mouth and destroyed.

So what’s left? Keep working low-paying jobs trying to etch out a career? Quit? Go back to school? Whatever may come all I need is for it to pay the bills and not destroy me with soul crushing boredom, bad scheduling and harsh coworkers.

Fail is a Four-Letter Word

“It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique … No specific job or career goal defines me and it should not define you… Whether you fear it or not disappointment will come. The beauty is that with true disappointment you can gain clarity and with clarity comes true conviction and true originality.” - Conan O'Brien

As a child I wanted to be a writer. I was encouraged in this endeavor. Winning some essay contests, some publications in college, interning at a daily newspaper in college, working freelance for said newspaper, landing a part-time paid job at a bigger local daily newspaper, and eventually (after a divorce, move and re-evaluation of life) landing a full-time reporter job at a weekly newspaper.

When I was fired after only 3 months from my “dream” job of making a living in journalism, I felt robbed. I felt like perhaps my lifelong goals weren’t sufficient. I felt defective. Never mind that journalism was going the way of the buffalo and the printed word was becoming the typed word which will eventually become the telekinesis word, just wait, I have faith.  I was devastated and doubted myself, my abilities and swore off writing saying “I wasn’t good enough.” I worked jobs that were in no way related to my dreams, but they paid the bills which is more than writing ever did for me.

This is going to be my writing outlet. I’m sure there are writers who will snub my accomplishments perhaps I chose love over career. I didn’t fight to write. I didn’t put writing at the forefront in my life and that’s fine. Writers always seem to have an elitist air about them. I’ve watched my short stories get battered down by “veteran,” published writers and I’ve watched editors correct my pieces down to a nub full of errors. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a writer. Writing is glorious and I love it and I can’t see my life without it. I will continue to write and put my musings, thoughts, short stories, ideas, advice and survival on this blog. Hope you can see past my shortcomings.

With failure grows the ability to endure, I’m planting my seeds and trying to weather life’s storms.