Halloween

A long and tiring day. A storm blew in, heavy rain and hail, massive amounts of lightening. A rainbow followed, and what else makes Halloween special but a rainbow tornado?


Tis what it sounded like as I took this picture from the deck; the wind was howling through the backwoods.

Baby-bot as Tinkerbelle had a lovely time trick or treating after the storm finally passed. We went to the other's. To my mom, and my dad's. To my former church for Trunk or Treat, where church members park their cars in the parking lot and local children come and gather said treats from the trunks, and only a few shouts of Jesus loves you! could be heard amongst the sound of people laughing and talking. Quite a few compliments were graced upon my child. Aw, isn't she cute?!


She was quite charming. Smiling. Dancing around.

I had one of those moments only parents can truly understand...when your child is a few feet away from you in a parking lot and you look at her and time is suddenly frozen. You see her. She is lit up by the warm light of the streetlamp overhead. You can't help but think, my child is gorgeous and special, and my God at how old she is.

I'll never forget that moment.

Happy Halloween.

I'm Awake...

In a very strange place. Life is changing, as always, of course, but something feels different. Those days when you awake with a clear head and a full heart, and you know something’s changing, though you're not sure what, but you know not to be scared. To stand still for a moment, and watch...wait...it's changing, and maybe this time, for the best.

I'm in a very strange state. My mind is racing, yet I feel I'm in slow motion. Leaves falling, and Baby Girl rushing past, yet I'm walking the dirtroad in silence. Each step is thoughtful, careful. Quiet. I smile, and my eyes fill with tears because I know something is over. A chapter of my life is closing, and as a writer, I know chapters...I know an ending when I see it.

I know it's time to write another novel. To take it seriously, and be the best damn writer I can be.

Not be distracted. Not be sad. Not be lonely, or wanting, or selfish, or needy. Not be so isolated. Yet unseen.

I'm simply stepping away, climbing over the fence, and where's Ash? someone asks. Everyone smiles and nods, and says, Ah, there she is, walking slowly now, but come November, she'll be running...full speed ahead towards the sunset, through the tall grass. I know. Said Huck Finn, I been there before.

And I miss that field. That tall grass.

Aiming for the sunset.

You've got to catch it, though, while it last. Or else you'll freeze to death.

Novel Land and the field you have to cross, the fence, to climb, the sun, to catch, it's a cold and lonely place. You can't fall. You can't stop. You can't give up at the first sign of bad prose or weak plot. There are living things that hide amongst that tall grass. They will devour you, given the chance. Those little creatures, those monsters, they spawn from our own self doubt. Waiting...watching. Destroying all dreams. Killing all writers, should we stop, or should we fall, our stories won't be told.

...

In my head: all that I just wrote; change, and the monsters in the grass. How I fear them, yet how excited I am for November, and this, my third real attempt at noveling.

In my heart: I am not well. Healing, though, I think.

In my life: I have so many stories to tell...I've been busy, though, and time must be made for telling stories. Hopefully I'll find that time, not only for me, but for others. Those moments when the monsters are sleeping, and I can stop and breathe easy for the chance to say Hi, how are you? I want and need you in my life.

...

One last story on this short and sunlit morning:

I drove out to the Lake again last Tuesday. I parked upon a steep hill to watch the sunset. The lake to one side, a green valley to the other, full of trees, their leaves beginning to change. Fall. Gold light upon their heads, and my face, through the window in the car, I said aloud everything to everyone I was thinking of. Those who find their way into my heart and into my head, and some of them I want there, all of them I need there, and after saying my thoughts aloud, I said to myself, I want to be happy. I want to live.

I want to watch the sunset over beautiful lakes. Clear water. Sitting on wooden boat docks, writing. Excited for novels, and each new day.

I don't want to fall into that valley where I'd surely break my neck. And who would find me, as I'm dieing, but the monsters in the grass.

Slowly Sinking

Feeling playful, yet lonely. I haven't slept. It's been raining here since Wednesday morning. Gray. Storming.

Sorry for my lack of posting and presence in general: I haven't been online much this week. Busy. Sad. Etc.

I hope everyone else is happy and well.

Just for fun, and fluff, and Friday, I stole the following survey from my friend JVS:

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

My idea of perfect happiness is walking barefoot on a beach with blue skies, blue water, white sand, soft and smooth. Sun setting. Rising. Making love in the inbetween time. Then running home to a big warm bath, and equally warm and big bed with a skylight above me so I can see the stars. Somewhere that isn’t a trailer in tornado alley. With a man who actually loves me, for what’s in my heart if I have one.

That, and being a published writer.

What is your greatest fear?

Never being a published writer.

What is your favorite journey?

The journey from the blank page to the full page.

What do you consider the most over-rated virtue?

Love.

What virtue do you wish you had more of?

Patience.

On what occasion do you lie?

When my head and heart both agree that it’s best and basically harmless. But I don’t like to lie, and rarely do so.

Which words do you most over use?

In real life: No (to Baby Girl). I’m lonely. [Profanity]

In my writing: God Damn. Come. Inbetween. In general. Blue. Green. Sun.

What is your greatest extravagance?

Shoes.

What do you dislike about your appearance?

I’ve come to terms with my outward appearance. I think it’s all right. Not too fond of the stretch marks, though. Or my giant nose.

Which living person do you most despise?

My step-dad.

What is your greatest regret?

Not killing step-dad.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

What, would be my writing. Who, would be Baby Girl. And in the more romantic sense: the boy who broke my heart into thousands of tiny pieces when I was sixteen.

When and where were you happiest?

In the front yard, at a party, on New Year’s Eve, 1999. I will forever live in that little moment in time when we were together, and just starting to fall in love. Thinking the world was fixing to end, I asked him to crawl into the backseat and sleep with me. When he said no, I loved him immediately.

Which talent would you most like to have?

Singing. Tis a dream of mine to star on Broadway.

What is your current state of mind?

Dark clouds, clearing? Breaking. Something new and exciting on the horizon. A chance to wander through tall grass. Run towards the sunlight. Be warm and happy in a constant state of writer’s delight. Yet my heart is aching. I am lonely. Quiet. Restless on this long and rainy night.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

There’s no answer to this question for me. My family is a lost and broken cause.

If you could die and come back as a person or thing, what would it be?

I’d come back as a cat. Lie in bed all day. Sit on people’s laps. Rub my tiny nose against their cheeks. Be petted. Loved. Fed. Watered. Adored by my owner. Sit in the windowsill warming my sleek black fur. Stare at the sun. Chase mice. Purr while having my tummy rubbed.

What is your most treasured possession?

All my writing and photos.

What thing would you like to have, that you do not?

A real house.

What do you think is the lowest depth of misery?

The lowest depth of misery is helplessness during a time of danger. People cowering in war zones. Children being beaten in their own homes. Kids being shot at school. Families in burning buildings. People on crashing planes. Dieing in pain, with no escape.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Intelligence. Unless he’s WAY smarter than me, and makes me feel stupid in comparison.

What physical quality do you like in a man?

I like dark hair, dark eyes, kind smiles, big noses, strong arms. Really short, or really tall. Not too thin or too fat. Middle age is nice. They know who they are, and where they’ve been. Not always where they’re going. But that’s half the fun: being with them when they figure it out.

What do you most value in friends?

Compassion.

What quality do you most dislike in a person?

Cowardice.

Who are your favorite writers?

Frank McCourt. Dr. Seuss. Shakespeare. All my blogging friends.

Who are your heroes in real life?

My heroes are Frank McCourt, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Audrey Hepburn, and Sufjan Stevens. Frank won the Pulitzer. Bogart is just flat-out fantastic. Bacall had the balls to get what she wanted, and keep Bogart on his toes. Audrey was gorgeous, and graceful, and kind. Sufjan is also gorgeous, talented, writes and sings and plays from his heart.

What are your favorite names?

Francis, Tobias, Atticus, and Benjamin, for boys.

For a girl: Juliet.

How would you like to die?

Plane crash. Drowning. Or in my sleep would be just fine.

What is your motto?

Be calm.

Be clear.

Be concise.

Poetry Thursday: Right in Front of Me

This week's prompt is What’s in front of you. What inspires you. Where you go and what you see and how you feel. The words that come forth, straight from your heart and head.

In front of me, I see a bright screen. I see lights. I see boxes and blinking cursers. The proverbial blank page, just waiting to be filled. The possibility of an improvised poem. Not for what Inspires me, or what I see, but for who.

New Cart Smell

I lie in my hospital gown
in my hospital bed
in this hospital room
where the smell of blood
is looming

The day begins outside
noises in the hallway
voices over charts
hanging on the back of doors
the secrets they write

Windows open with slits of light
morning shines
I’m scared to be alive

I hear crying
footsteps
the door swings open
a nurse walks inside
pushing a cart

Four sides
a clear plastic bed
for a baby that's mine

I raise my head and smile
take her in my arms
as she waves tiny fists
with closed eyes
always missing

I kiss her

I whisper:

Welcome to your life

Who's coming with me?

she asks, ala Jerry Maguire.

I've been meaning to extend a wide open invitation to everyone and anyone. Write a novel in one single month, with tons of support, in the company of fellow writers. It's fun! And hard. And truly a great way to get the first one over with if you've never written a novel before. It's goes so quickly, the self hate and doubt is postponed indefinitely! (Also known as December.)

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Sign Up Here. Now. Please?

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What you'll receive:

A novel.
Fifty thousand words.
In thirty days.
Endless cups of coffee.
A short break from blogging.
The love and respect of A. B. Chairiet.
A certificate, should you finish.

I'll poke you with a stick and make sure you finish!

Me and BB and JVS...we're going to light fires and write novels and get published and be famous!

Why not join us?

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You had me at NaNoWriMo...