moments fading


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January, what bananas to think a good start would last so long, just two months into the new year

settled into february until it came to a skidding stop on the 27th.

like, “sorry, but we really can’t keep going.”

no, seriously.


jobs come and go. just gotta find my flow.

which is making me think i need a new space for a professional, creative take on literary work, to make my work.

i’ll keep this space as well. as my personal spout through longwinded phrases and the warped wrap of syntax that slow creeps over the lines and makes life seem so simple and direct and not happening in random sections and cause and effect projected into 3D.

oh baby, life is a joy.

let’s figure this out and take things where they are leading,

many avenues are open

[sorry for no posts in months. lots has happened and needed time to process.]


Lunch time thrills


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words are my game.

they pay the bills and yet I fight with them like a heavy weight match.

Fiction is my favored method of syntax, with poetry a close second. But Journalism has taken the drivers wheel, well it can since it pays the gas.

Nights remind me I have four novels I’d like to work on.

Mornings drag me off to the office.

This blog is feeling dull, and I want to make a new one for my professional fiction and poetry,

but i also don’t want any of it stolen.

i need to get my poetry printed in books.

if my uncle can do it, then so can i.

now get back to work.


familiar nook


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Here I am again in my favorite nook
looking out to a familiar scene

wondering why we never or why no one has ever put bubbles into that fountain

thinking of times with boyfriend to come

(ta-dunt-dun…i really need a drum kit to follow me around)

listening to librarians soft chatter

and an old mans breathing next to me as he slowly taps out an email

perhaps to his long-lost daughter

but i’m romanticizing things again

i’m pretty sure he is trying to figure out how to set up an online account

times are a movin’

things are changin’

life is pattering on

time is in so i can be paid

zines have been spoke of

fiction to be sent

pages turning and newspapers rustling

articles of beautiful cars being written

three blocks away my mom soaks into another episode of Gunsmoke

71 degrees Fahrenheit the day after Christmas, ahhh Florida I love ya

birds gliding on the wind

simple pleasures when you stop to look around.

Happy Anniversary…Again


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Logged in to see that it was 5 years ago, in a boring high school class as my 17-year-old self created this blog as a place for my words. Let’s see what has changed:

  • Graduated High School
  • Got into college
  • Focused on what I love; literature and creative writing.
  • Have four notebooks with notes for four books
  • many completed short stories
  • many poems
  • created a multimedia poetry project (See: Words From Paint link)
  • Finished a manuscript for a poetry book
  • Graduated from college with a BA; in four years
  • Internship at a magazine publishing company
  • Hired as the Assistant Editor for the magazine publishing company
  • helped launch brand new magazine, First Coast magazine, along with the three other magazines we put out
  • go on photo shoots a lot
  • coordinate and assign stories
  • write articles
  • edit
  • grown up things

yeah, that’s why I haven’t posted as much as I used to.

Please stay tuned.

Thanks for sticking around.

Time flies, man.

Words on a page is what that writer was mumbling under their breathe


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Circles building, words languishing, and views of people blurring back and forth like birdies flying around your head.
Days are passing.
Mischiefs are managed.
yet they always panic because they forgot to set the alarm
But no, that can’t be the problem. That’s too simple.
The boxes are piling, the paper is weighing, and yet the words still aren’t satisfied.

Constantly shifting between this & that
while keeping each of their interests straight in my head.
Keeping in one game while chasing myself into a new one while I am still in curve one of the greater race. Gotta hold out hope it isn’t just a 50 yard dash–I’m ready to go the scenic route.

Lots of copy! Lots of paper! Lots of names! Lots of style!
Maybe just not your style. Words are the game, the race, the greatest prize, and the highest honor. Composing them carefully or letting them flow free & wild & obscene. Exploring the imagination to build creative profile and a work style.

Keeping my head true to fiction, but starting out fresh with my old friend nonfiction journalism.

What was that old girl scout saying?

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold.

Guess that can be said about my old friend the written word. Just trying out different genres & enjoying them each as I write more & more.

Fiction Fix 14!!!!


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Fiction Fix is proud to present issue 14!

Please click the words Fiction Fix in the first line, or the link on my blogroll on my page, or simply put:

Into your browser & please read these wonderful stories & view the beautiful artwork!


Pizza & Conceptual Poetry


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I finished my first full length manuscript that I am on the hunt to get published as a paperback!
E-book too, but I want to get something of mine in print. And it’s not fiction, it’s conceptual poetry! What a twist! I started writing it as a silly constraint to entertain me as I read Postmodern American Poetry Second Edition anthology to update myself before I spoke with a poetess about Flarf poetry. The result is 114 stanzas created from words used in 114 poets’ poems. Each stanza having as many lines as poems were included for each poet. The most lines in one stanza was thirteen. The smallest stanza is one line.
I have communicated with the editor of the anthology I used as reference & sent him a copy of the manuscript. It’s like my baby is running across country: both a proud moment & a moment of unbelievable fear.
Although I most just write poetry-like things on here, my main writing is fiction; long, random bursts of prose, nano, flash, or short stories.

As I sit here eating pizza, & writing this through the WordPress app, I am thinking of how things have changed. I graduate with my BA August 2nd. My resume has been primed for me to start submitting it, & I want to take care of me & bf’s house.

Times they are a-changin’.

Words From Paint


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Here you go readers! Please view my finalized and complete creative writing project, Words From Paint. :]

Originally posted on hashtagoctothorpe:

By Kelsie Sandage

Link to Words From Paint


This multimedia project is best viewed in full screen. Enjoy this culmination of painting, writing, and online interactivity.

View original

Words from Paint: A Rectangle to aid the Abstract.


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Rectangle of MicrofictionsUpper Left Corner

***this post is going to be completely updated!

Cocooned within the picture. Each individual, yet a part of the same. Linked, but disconnected. A Piece of a piece of a piece. The face appeared before them easy to see: eye socket, and the extended nose, which led to the lack of mouth.  Rather curious, as it was still speaking. Countering. Facing. Vased in. Hour-glass. Abstract. Lost in its own curves. A candle with an irregular mold. Viewing overhead the mess to come is a curse & a blessing depending on your interpretation.
Words and meaning. The way it’s said, pronunciation is key. So is spelling, & grammar. But all of that is worthless without some meat/fruit/juice, whatever, take your pick, to keep the reader going. The light shines down through a neon sheen. Goosebumps rise on the thighs, a steady hand, & controlled smile meet yours. The Moon greets the Sun. Creating complicated, dramatic, compelling lives for people you encounter on the bus, only to blink it all away upon exiting @ your stop. A sly fox donned a purple hat, met a pig, and jumped continents, only to zip & kick into a quaint boxcar.
Sometimes mistakes make the picture. Other times they fuck up the whole thing. “Love becomes you, Dear. Your face glows & eyes smile. See you know it. Watch you blush. Isn’t love Surreal?” A character,  yes quiteA character.

Running along

On time, or not.

Night shows no bounds while you’re in flight tonight, quick, before the sun we fright.

Wave—& foam writhe to no end & so does the ink, but in such more restricting, yet freeing ways. Both eternal & needed.
A cat scratching on a post. A hand nudged across a table. A way to bridge the way one painting was randomly started & became immense. Loopy words & sloping meaning rush to fill the shore of understanding. Hey square, look over there. <–>I don’t care.But you’ve come this far. Screw this, I’m taking the ship back home. Elvis lived & died for Rock-N-Roll. Even tho he died clutching a toilet roll.
I form sentences to say to those people with zipper lips but then I delete my text in fear of getting stuck in their teeth. I thought I saw an Angel in the scuff of mud from your shoe on the bathroom wall. Her wings swept back, her hair white, her body cloaked & draped. Will I ever wipe her away? “La vie Boheme,” we sang through the streets. “La vie Boheme,” I scream, alone.  “La vie Boheme,” I hum while working on other writing. Blue: Rich, royal, sad, consuming, gentle, calm, boy, or girl, baby, blueberry, Ultra-, Aqua-, marine. And all the glorious shades in between.

Words from Paint: Connection


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When one love finds the other—

loveLike an elephant curling up with its mate.

A yin hugging its yang.

Perhaps not so flip-flop on opinions.

Although there will always be ample debate

hats through the years. But maybe a fancy

top hat soon for a celebration or just amoon

moonlit walk that could turn into watching

the sun burst over the ocean.

Music streams from you and makes me

constantly dancing.

cheese and wineWine, cheese, and bread:

Now just add Monte Cristo.

But no matter, a slow dance is

an even better addition.hat heart

Two hearts beating against each other in slow motion.


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