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’.
Here you go readers! Please view my finalized and complete creative writing project, Words From Paint. :]
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***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 quite A 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.|
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When one love finds the other—
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
moonlit walk that could turn into watching
the sun burst over the ocean.
Music streams from you and makes me
Now just add Monte Cristo.
But no matter, a slow dance is
Two hearts beating against each other in slow motion.
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Susie hugging her bear—Tim & Todd tugging her pig tails—
All three incarcerated in big sister Flora’s bored gaze.
She lies on her side in the soft grass and
Watches lithe clouds pass by, ever transforming.
Her imagination conjures up green spots, and
a tuft of black hair with a matching hat to its skin.
In her mind, the elephant opens a set of eyes,
And they are the same shade of blue as Jack’s.
She drifts on his image, but then shakes her head.
He said he’d call, she thinks. Phew! It’s still cooler
out here than in that house. Flora usually calls it their mutated barn.
The mocking silence of the kitchen phone, and
The kids on full-boil energy had driven her out of the coop
and into the valley next to where her family’s home resides.
There are some trees for shade—while being just out of ring distance—
but still within Mama’s scream—so Susie, Tim & Todd could have their fill.
Blink back to the present, and then she’s up with the swing. “Susanne!”
A flurry of blue cotton down the hill, and she separates
the mixture of children, dirt, & squeals of who started it.
“I don’t care. You are siblings. You have to be nice to each other.”
What a load, she thinks. Alice & Tom have never stopped picking on me.
On the crest of the hill, the kids clump closer together, & she realizes it’s
unnaturally quiet—Not a single bird chirping, or cruising, on this hot,
almost-summer day. Flora freezes & the children clutch to her skirt at the
horror unrolling in front of them. A colossal, swirling tower of wind,
energy, debris, & natural rage rips through their father’s barn and mother’s garden,
blasting Earth and everything connected to it into shreds.
She drops to the ground—huddles the—shaking—kids close; their young eyes
can comprehend complete destruction when it is right in front of them.
Glancing back at the scene she had watched for hours through a daydream filter,
the giraffe-elephant-Jack is little more than a loosely knitted gossamer veil.
The sky has turned peculiar colors; perhaps the green spotted cloud hadn’t been all her imagination. Forcing herself to face the situation—only to be shocked again—
T-minus 30-seconds until the whole things gone.
Alas, before the Monster goes through the front door, it slopes to the left and just takes off the remodeled den. The cyclones energy starts disappearing
From the bottom
until everything held high has dropped.
A surge of adrenaline—Flora grabs Susie & Tim—Todd runs along her side,
even running ahead and throwing open the storm cellar doors for her.
In any other moment, she’d praise his chivalry for wanting her to go before him—
but not while her blood is curdling from anxiety. A stomp of her foot,
and he descends—Tim & Susie follow suit.
Slamming the doors and then locking the chain,
She imagines a ring—Jack picking up & her heart singing—
because she can’t wait to tell him her story.
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This blog archives some of my poetry along with the random & lyrical prose that I produce for content. I also have a page on here called My Art that has chronicled past art projects I have been, or had been, working on. That page has not been updated in what seems like forever, even though I’ve made much art since then. But now, with the series of blogs in conjunction with HashtagOctothorpe that will start after this post, Words From Paint takes a large 18×24 acrylic painting I finished March 2012 and accompanies sections with narrative fiction, poetry, and microfiction.
The text that goes along with the pictures is not supposed to fix the meaning of the images, but instead to open up the interpretation of what could be. The stories are just one story that could go with each scene. Later perhaps I will come back and create entirely new stories for each section of images, but for now they stand as influenced stories to expand the meaning of the paint.
I will reblog the finished link to HashtagOctothorpe when it is up.
It is a link to an amazing online literary journal called Fiction Fix !!!!
It is produced by alumni of UNF, University of North Florida, and I just began reading for the journal!!!
Super excited and hope everyone with check them out and submit their writing!!!!!
may be produced by the alumni,
But EVERYONE can submit to be read and possibly published! Yes you!
Either follow the link connected to the words Fiction Fix above, or copy and paste:
into a new tab and pursue the website and past journals!!
Also, if on my page, have the menu linking directly to Fiction Fix, so many ways you just have to choose.
Hope you enjoy!
and the hot, muggy air,
and jingle, jangle of the hound’s tinkling tags as she investigates, everything.
a shift from one side to the other.
a deep crack, that will eventually envelop the house whole, runs down the middle.
bicycles pulled out and dusted, a motorcycle fanned over to the wall, by the man with the vision.
and here I sit, on a cement step, watching this dance between animal and man and machine.
the broom falls over, but the loud snap is hardly noteworthy.