frivolity

I guess if you didn't know me & had to judge me from the contents of this blog, you'd assume that all I do is write, sniffle about writing, read other people's writing, and sit around insipidly, thinking about how I'd rather be writing. 

I mean, it's a writing blog, so that's fair...but still. I do other things. This is a frivolous entry. It has nothing to do with writing. It is about boys and clothes (and dolls, too, inadvertently. very girly!)  

1. Having to do with boys:

                   

In Chicago, we were "forced" to take shelter from a thunderstorm in the American Girl Place. This bookshelf cracked me up. The brand of books is called "A Smart Girl's Guide To..." All sorts of great topics, like managing money, friendships and manners. Yet which one was flying off the shelves? Look closely! I suppose, at any age, boys remain a baffling species. 

2. Having to do with clothes:

This Free People blazer is waaay too expensive. But I really want it and I just tried it on and it fit like a dream and I am quickly finding ways to justify how I need something like this very, very much. And I am a very good saleswomen, especially when the customer happens to be me.

metawriting

I just realized how lazy I am when it comes to writing things down. I haven't really written anything, even just a simple story, in such a long time. I always forget what hard work it is.  (Poems are different, I seldom if ever actually work on poetry. Labored poetry is hardly worth it, I think, mine anyway, when I work too much on it, always comes off heavy-handed. Perhaps I'll change my mind on that, but I don't think so.)

Anyway, I really wanted to write down a particular event from the vacation I just took with my mom & sister. I didn't just journal it, I really tried to write it like I'd like it to sound, like a story, and it took an hour but felt like several hours, and I'm actually tired. I might be extra tired because of jet-lag, etc, but I know it's mostly writing-tired. Like head-tired. Also, so much of what I write just sounds so incredibly different than how it sounded in my head. And not a good different. I know that's natural, and I don't beat myself up for it, but it's very disconcerting anyway. It's hard to admit that I've very very rusty at that kind of writing (telling stories). I'd like for it to always come so naturally the first time. 

I had a writing teacher in college who encouraged "meta-writing"...writing about writing, which is actually sometimes a really good idea, if only because it makes you feel a little more sane. So that's what this is. 

ps. I'll post that story on here and a few more from the trip soon...it was a great week in Mankato, Minneapolis and Chicago. Great pictures, too. :) 

dressing room

I am learning things from poetry books.

Things like: remove all pronouns.

Squish together astonished words, make those words blush

no thesaurus--know them heartfully or not at all.

Things like: paradox is the root of good words.

       (what stronger proof is there for resurrection?)

Things like: this decision to sound wise suddenly

the attempt, this new jangling anti-rhyme,

the smirks behind opaque pages behind opaque eyes

behind the nod of 'yes, oh yes'

     fits like the low-cut dress

     my mother stamped her foot against

     in buzzing neon dressing rooms

     years ago. 

short lexicon for a tuesday eve.

a word I like lately: 

reframe (as in, I've cleared my head, I've gained perspective and it's causing me to reframe.)

two words I will never like, ever, ever:

massage, used in any way expect the real way. (as in, well, let's just give this idea a little more time, massage it a little.) 

pagination (as in, his MLA pagination was just all wrong.)

like good bone

I found this line tonight, quite randomly. It absolutely needed to be read by me right now. Reading this tonight was grace. The way the second line will bounce through my mind is grace.

Heart breaks but mends

like good bone.

It's the vain will

wants to have been wounded deeper

burned by the cold moon to cinder. 

-Denise Levertov, from "Relearning the Alphabet"