When I hear a sad song or learn of a sad movie – something in me shuts off. No longer open to the cadence of the words intended to be read, but dead. Dead to feeling that feeling of loss – the one that inspired the words. I was the girl who held funerals for snakes squshed flat by radial tires wrecklessly steered by unmindful drivers. Words such as malaise nearly pass me by, and would if words did not speak to me so. Picked out of the pile, unearthed from the wreckage, dusted off, shaken out – relieved of their too sad ties to the past. Not wanting to think – what brute would kick a sweet little pup?
The alterative seems far better: amble and chomping. Jade-colored teeth grinding lazily in large bovine heads. Human-like eyes tracking boxcars that pass, ears flick with the sound of 50 Hells Angels.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Where have you been?
"Where have you been?" she demanded. He dropped his eyes and did what he does best - he shut her out, observing everything except the tears brimming in her eyes - ready to spill out and run down her red hot cheeks.
"'Where have you been? Tuh-hA!" he sneered only slightly beneath his breath, not noticing he mockingly was quoting her.
Snapped back from his daze by the first of those tears splatting a line of her list. She was forever making lists - to do, to do now, to do at work, to do at home, for others to do. They infuriated him, infuriated. His resentment toward her had grown enormously over the past few months. Thinly veiled insults nonchalantly disguised behind a joke.
He knew what he said was hurtful - he also knew that he said it with the intention to hurt. But hadn't he just a few months prior revealed to her his heart? He had - and that's why. He came to her - heart in his hand hoping to learn that his heart was exactly what she wanted. But that hadn't happened. It's as if she handed him the yellow rose of friendship.
"Thanks, Sammy. You're so sweet." That was all she said. Thanks! That is not a response to someone - your soulmate - revealing their heart. It's an insult really. So since then she went on pretending what was said, never was - he would continue to toss his jokes her way.
Not that it made him feel better - it didn't - but because it made him think that to Iris it looked like - he too had forgotten all that was revealed. Not a good way to communicate but that's because since the day he attemped to hand her his heart and she shoved it back at him they didn't have a relationship. They simply coexisted. Shared the same space. And felt nothing but apathy - or so he thought as he watched the tear blur the quickly scrawled "vaccum" into a pool of blue.
"'Where have you been? Tuh-hA!" he sneered only slightly beneath his breath, not noticing he mockingly was quoting her.
Snapped back from his daze by the first of those tears splatting a line of her list. She was forever making lists - to do, to do now, to do at work, to do at home, for others to do. They infuriated him, infuriated. His resentment toward her had grown enormously over the past few months. Thinly veiled insults nonchalantly disguised behind a joke.
He knew what he said was hurtful - he also knew that he said it with the intention to hurt. But hadn't he just a few months prior revealed to her his heart? He had - and that's why. He came to her - heart in his hand hoping to learn that his heart was exactly what she wanted. But that hadn't happened. It's as if she handed him the yellow rose of friendship.
"Thanks, Sammy. You're so sweet." That was all she said. Thanks! That is not a response to someone - your soulmate - revealing their heart. It's an insult really. So since then she went on pretending what was said, never was - he would continue to toss his jokes her way.
Not that it made him feel better - it didn't - but because it made him think that to Iris it looked like - he too had forgotten all that was revealed. Not a good way to communicate but that's because since the day he attemped to hand her his heart and she shoved it back at him they didn't have a relationship. They simply coexisted. Shared the same space. And felt nothing but apathy - or so he thought as he watched the tear blur the quickly scrawled "vaccum" into a pool of blue.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Still Alice - Author interview on FOX25 in Boston
Link:
Yes, you heard right. I was on FOX25 news earlier this week talking about STILL ALICE and early-onset Alzheimer's Disease. Here's the link if you'd like to see it:
http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/ContentDetail?contentId=6007090
Thanks,
Lisa Genova
http://www.StillAlice.com
Yes, you heard right. I was on FOX25 news earlier this week talking about STILL ALICE and early-onset Alzheimer's Disease. Here's the link if you'd like to see it:
http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/ContentDetail?contentId=6007090
Thanks,
Lisa Genova
http://www.StillAlice.com
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Russian Christmas Wishes
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I have a friend in Russia - her name is Nina Mikalina. I got this ecard scripted in Russian. But when you click, Toby Keith (oh so country) sings Silver Bells.
Loving the culture clash I just had to print and scan and post!!!
C Hobbim rogom!
(hope that is good)
:)
Monday, November 23, 2009
Prompt: Travel
The prompt was - farthest you had to travel as a child, alone.
I didn't have one of those abandoned childhoods where children spent hours upon hours entertaining themselves, bored of freedom , yearning for structure. Nope quite the opposite here. I traveled in a pack - a small nuclear pack. To be alone I would crawl beneath my bed - but this was an imposition on my cat who scratched a hole in the mattress' white underlining - - and climbed IN. No joke. Alone was a commodity in my house.
I didn't have one of those abandoned childhoods where children spent hours upon hours entertaining themselves, bored of freedom , yearning for structure. Nope quite the opposite here. I traveled in a pack - a small nuclear pack. To be alone I would crawl beneath my bed - but this was an imposition on my cat who scratched a hole in the mattress' white underlining - - and climbed IN. No joke. Alone was a commodity in my house.
I'm cheating on my book club
A few months ago I got a facebook mail inviting me to join the Endless Summer Girlfriends Book Club - seeing that is was from someone I actually know (in the flesh) I jumped on board.
I am already a member of a book club (Tampa Bay Bookies) but figured - I love books! So I gave it a shot. Now granted I started in true LP style - skipped the first book...BUT have since read the second book (finished it last night) and already purchased the third and fourth books.
Have to check when the online chat is but am looking forward to it as the author is a part of the discussion. How great is that?!
Time to fly.
I am already a member of a book club (Tampa Bay Bookies) but figured - I love books! So I gave it a shot. Now granted I started in true LP style - skipped the first book...BUT have since read the second book (finished it last night) and already purchased the third and fourth books.
Have to check when the online chat is but am looking forward to it as the author is a part of the discussion. How great is that?!
Time to fly.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The Prompt - Manual
If you were to write a manual what would be the product?
Well, I did. And it was a manual for a heart rate monitor. The audience was an older crowd - and I was told my main goal was to get across the point of the large red button on top of the small plastic casing.
I tested them too. Hooked each machine up to a device that would determine if each monitor was calibrated within a ceratin range. I do well with repetitive tasks - something about the rhythm of them lulls me into a catatonic, rainman-like state. At this particular task, my ears detected the rejects. Like a freak of nature, I set aside the abnormal machines without needing the confirmation of an ink-scratched beat. But that's me.
Well, I did. And it was a manual for a heart rate monitor. The audience was an older crowd - and I was told my main goal was to get across the point of the large red button on top of the small plastic casing.
I tested them too. Hooked each machine up to a device that would determine if each monitor was calibrated within a ceratin range. I do well with repetitive tasks - something about the rhythm of them lulls me into a catatonic, rainman-like state. At this particular task, my ears detected the rejects. Like a freak of nature, I set aside the abnormal machines without needing the confirmation of an ink-scratched beat. But that's me.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Take Two - POLICE
An attempt to follow directions - sort of...
Police
Well, shit. An error occured on the timer so now I'm off topic and not following the directions again. Grr...
F-it. I'm changing the rules. (Ha.)
Policing the halls you never know what you are going to see. Most teachers follow the unwritten rule of proceed with caution. Stopping every cell phone violation on the way to the bathroom would make an unsuccessful trip. Plus, telling people no and pointing out what they are doing wrong also bums out the policer.
...
Shit that sucked more than the first. More like a one minute bitch. (and no I am not calling myself a bitch :P)
Police
Well, shit. An error occured on the timer so now I'm off topic and not following the directions again. Grr...
F-it. I'm changing the rules. (Ha.)
Policing the halls you never know what you are going to see. Most teachers follow the unwritten rule of proceed with caution. Stopping every cell phone violation on the way to the bathroom would make an unsuccessful trip. Plus, telling people no and pointing out what they are doing wrong also bums out the policer.
...
Shit that sucked more than the first. More like a one minute bitch. (and no I am not calling myself a bitch :P)
Response to prompt on One Minute Writer Blog
So I just came across a new blog - new to me that is - called the One Minute Writer. A daily prompt is posted and then you commit one minute to respond.
Cool.
But today's prompt is something six word...blah, blah, blah. Did that last year - or the year before and I think you can tell from the tone of my voice - don't really want to do it again. Though I have been known to be wrong - it doesn't strike me to write today.
The six-word memoir I wrote was: Live life outside the lines sometimes. (Okay, I cheated - that wasn't it exactly. Really I think mine was only five words - hence the outside the lines thing - Life lived outside the lines. Though it reads more like an epitaph...)
So yesterday's prompt is: Fiction - Accident Here goes...
You say accident - I think pee, though trip is the most common type of accident I tend to encounter. Yup, tripped over a speed bump holding hands with my son. Actually made him faceplant into it. We were at the mall. When we both got up, Charlie with a fat bloody lip he looked at me with tears in his eyes and wailed, "Why?"
...
Well I have to say I pretty much bombed that one. I guess it was about a minute but that is hard to calculate and write. Once you get started you then have to stop. Hmm. Before I do my thing and change something I think doesn't work I will give this an honest shot. I do have a timer tomorrow I will use it. (As usual I missed something - and I have the gall to call my friend Skip- a-Step - The timer is right there on the page...maybe I will do a take two.)
But the major failure is that I failed to follow the prompt - a sophomoric mistake (though I knew as I was doing it I was committing it).
Here's the challenge - can I get myself back here tomorrow?
Time will tell
Cool.
But today's prompt is something six word...blah, blah, blah. Did that last year - or the year before and I think you can tell from the tone of my voice - don't really want to do it again. Though I have been known to be wrong - it doesn't strike me to write today.
The six-word memoir I wrote was: Live life outside the lines sometimes. (Okay, I cheated - that wasn't it exactly. Really I think mine was only five words - hence the outside the lines thing - Life lived outside the lines. Though it reads more like an epitaph...)
So yesterday's prompt is: Fiction - Accident Here goes...
You say accident - I think pee, though trip is the most common type of accident I tend to encounter. Yup, tripped over a speed bump holding hands with my son. Actually made him faceplant into it. We were at the mall. When we both got up, Charlie with a fat bloody lip he looked at me with tears in his eyes and wailed, "Why?"
...
Well I have to say I pretty much bombed that one. I guess it was about a minute but that is hard to calculate and write. Once you get started you then have to stop. Hmm. Before I do my thing and change something I think doesn't work I will give this an honest shot. I do have a timer tomorrow I will use it. (As usual I missed something - and I have the gall to call my friend Skip- a-Step - The timer is right there on the page...maybe I will do a take two.)
But the major failure is that I failed to follow the prompt - a sophomoric mistake (though I knew as I was doing it I was committing it).
Here's the challenge - can I get myself back here tomorrow?
Time will tell
Sunday, November 08, 2009
A Prologue - WriMoNiMo Part 1
NiMoWriMo Novel
Life is never enough for Jez. Dissatisfaction is the predominant influence on her state of being. I guess one could say, it’s what keeps her going. It hasn’t always been this way, but it seems she’s stuck in a rut, and this one’s one hell of a rut. Like every classic Freudian, she blames it on her mother, and why not? It seems she’s the perfectly logical scapegoat.
The difference between a boy and a girl: A girl can get pregnant, whereas a boy cannot. A girl is sensitive, where a boy is not. A girl is soft and sweet and sensitive, a boy is not. Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, whereas boys are made of and and puppy dog tails.
A Prologue
A young girl growing restless of life as it is, the predictability of daily life tirelessly drones on mocking her boredom, her dissatisfaction, her curiosity with its routine sounds and familiar practices. Accustomed to life as it is, Amelia spent her prayers wistfully masking desires as true needs and wants. And before long, with enough thinking upon it, desires become reality. As it is said – be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. So as you may have guessed – this girl asked for change and change is what she received a change so dramatic that it would alter her life forever. Eternally alter the footprint of her life and the lives of those surrounding her – or as she put it - stifling her.
Fine linen folds crystallize remote edges of the pond in the late days of January, months after the last of the waterfowl headed south. Rough yellowed stalks rustle slightly from the movement of air. A back door slams – in part from the breeze but mostly in anger – and a high school freshman is granted access her rite of passage by a boy twice her age.
With God in her heart and Jesus nowhere near her mind, she goes to him, allows him to undress her; she succumbs to what many later decide as her greatest weakness. Long before she realizes the implications of the act she committed and had been a willing and eager participant Thom returned to his wife, leaving Jezebel. Alone, she cried. For the loss of her innocence, for her youth - forever altered but the magnitude of the decision before her.
Instilled with her grandmother's love for God - a God whose teachings still ring in her ears, whose touch is a cool dip on the tips of her fingers and padded, creaky plastic pressure beneath her knees both Wednesdays and Sundays. Made to feel she had committed a sin and not knowing what else to do, she agrees - though it was not enough to keep her from the furor.
A child is born in Bethlehem – not of an innocent, all-encompassing love but of childish want, curiosity, discovery, and desire; a departure from what is good and right.
The truth is, this mass of cells exists and Rowe vs. Wade has not yet come to be - though would not present a viable option if it had - seeing as though this was a sin, the greater sin would be to dissolve the mass without thought or talk of sin. So out of fear of creating a sin of God, she allowed herself to commit a sin of man and without a ceremony she bore a child who she unceremoniously then shoved off from the reeds by the edge of a cooling pond in the days leading up to Halloween.
But that’s not were the story begins – at least that’s not where I think it begins. Though for as long as I have been conscience of a story, that is where it has always begun – in my head – then again I have never been able to get it outside of my head. So let’s wind it back a bit and take a microscope to uncover the facts, to discover the nuances of the character that led to the pushing off of the baby in the reeds.
Growing up in Pennsylvania allows a girl a certain freedom that growing up in say New York City doesn’t. Suburban living prophesizes small town living – a town with only one stoplight is something to be coveted as it implies the need for only one stoplight, which as we all know that reality and necessity are not often the same. But all the same, she proffered change; here is how that change came about.
Life is never enough for Jez. Dissatisfaction is the predominant influence on her state of being. I guess one could say, it’s what keeps her going. It hasn’t always been this way, but it seems she’s stuck in a rut, and this one’s one hell of a rut. Like every classic Freudian, she blames it on her mother, and why not? It seems she’s the perfectly logical scapegoat.
The difference between a boy and a girl: A girl can get pregnant, whereas a boy cannot. A girl is sensitive, where a boy is not. A girl is soft and sweet and sensitive, a boy is not. Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, whereas boys are made of and and puppy dog tails.
A Prologue
A young girl growing restless of life as it is, the predictability of daily life tirelessly drones on mocking her boredom, her dissatisfaction, her curiosity with its routine sounds and familiar practices. Accustomed to life as it is, Amelia spent her prayers wistfully masking desires as true needs and wants. And before long, with enough thinking upon it, desires become reality. As it is said – be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. So as you may have guessed – this girl asked for change and change is what she received a change so dramatic that it would alter her life forever. Eternally alter the footprint of her life and the lives of those surrounding her – or as she put it - stifling her.
Fine linen folds crystallize remote edges of the pond in the late days of January, months after the last of the waterfowl headed south. Rough yellowed stalks rustle slightly from the movement of air. A back door slams – in part from the breeze but mostly in anger – and a high school freshman is granted access her rite of passage by a boy twice her age.
With God in her heart and Jesus nowhere near her mind, she goes to him, allows him to undress her; she succumbs to what many later decide as her greatest weakness. Long before she realizes the implications of the act she committed and had been a willing and eager participant Thom returned to his wife, leaving Jezebel. Alone, she cried. For the loss of her innocence, for her youth - forever altered but the magnitude of the decision before her.
Instilled with her grandmother's love for God - a God whose teachings still ring in her ears, whose touch is a cool dip on the tips of her fingers and padded, creaky plastic pressure beneath her knees both Wednesdays and Sundays. Made to feel she had committed a sin and not knowing what else to do, she agrees - though it was not enough to keep her from the furor.
A child is born in Bethlehem – not of an innocent, all-encompassing love but of childish want, curiosity, discovery, and desire; a departure from what is good and right.
The truth is, this mass of cells exists and Rowe vs. Wade has not yet come to be - though would not present a viable option if it had - seeing as though this was a sin, the greater sin would be to dissolve the mass without thought or talk of sin. So out of fear of creating a sin of God, she allowed herself to commit a sin of man and without a ceremony she bore a child who she unceremoniously then shoved off from the reeds by the edge of a cooling pond in the days leading up to Halloween.
But that’s not were the story begins – at least that’s not where I think it begins. Though for as long as I have been conscience of a story, that is where it has always begun – in my head – then again I have never been able to get it outside of my head. So let’s wind it back a bit and take a microscope to uncover the facts, to discover the nuances of the character that led to the pushing off of the baby in the reeds.
Growing up in Pennsylvania allows a girl a certain freedom that growing up in say New York City doesn’t. Suburban living prophesizes small town living – a town with only one stoplight is something to be coveted as it implies the need for only one stoplight, which as we all know that reality and necessity are not often the same. But all the same, she proffered change; here is how that change came about.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Developing a Thought
My mind has been on hold for quite a while and I am not sure what's to blame but figure finger pointing isn't useful anyhow, so I'll drop it, and stew.
She's a character forming in my mind - she's been there before but this time I feel compassion - where before there was only distaste or maybe apathy. So compassion is good - at least it is a feeling, it can grow. Apathy must be the worst emotion - can it even be called an emotion? Isn't it more of a non-emotion?
Either way I am moving toward something, slowly. It's growing and that's good.
Fiction is funny - it gives you the freedom to let go - it's like a psychological release, permission to lie, but somehow I no longer feel the fictional freedom I did when I first discovered this truth. Maybe I've dissected the worm too many times and can no longer see it for it's expanding and contracting.
I'm hoping the thing that is stiffling me is stage fright...so I'm going off line. What I need to write is too close to home to put it all out there. I worry too much about the intended audience and how my work will be perceived, so I don't write. I do in journals - on scraps - on saved bits on this computer, that flashdrive, but somehow can't complete a thought.
A regrouping is necessary, because the story I have to tell is mine, and it's fiction. It scares me and it delights me - it makes me want to cry. And finally I have gotten to the place of compassion. So now I've got to write.
She's a character forming in my mind - she's been there before but this time I feel compassion - where before there was only distaste or maybe apathy. So compassion is good - at least it is a feeling, it can grow. Apathy must be the worst emotion - can it even be called an emotion? Isn't it more of a non-emotion?
Either way I am moving toward something, slowly. It's growing and that's good.
Fiction is funny - it gives you the freedom to let go - it's like a psychological release, permission to lie, but somehow I no longer feel the fictional freedom I did when I first discovered this truth. Maybe I've dissected the worm too many times and can no longer see it for it's expanding and contracting.
I'm hoping the thing that is stiffling me is stage fright...so I'm going off line. What I need to write is too close to home to put it all out there. I worry too much about the intended audience and how my work will be perceived, so I don't write. I do in journals - on scraps - on saved bits on this computer, that flashdrive, but somehow can't complete a thought.
A regrouping is necessary, because the story I have to tell is mine, and it's fiction. It scares me and it delights me - it makes me want to cry. And finally I have gotten to the place of compassion. So now I've got to write.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Hub pages
So, I'd really like to earn an income as a writer so I am trying my hand at some online writing suggestions, one of which was Hub pages - though I think I more like stumbled onto this one. You will notice a NEW box on the side of my blog. It contains the articles - well, singular - article I have written.
Pump my 2-D ego and click, read, and rate.
Aw, cummon it'll be fun.
This one's a gem.
Pump my 2-D ego and click, read, and rate.
Aw, cummon it'll be fun.
This one's a gem.
Three am, what - I ask myself - am I doing up?
Coughing. Blowing my nose.. Surfing the web... Thinking of Mt. Kilimanjaro, Babu Bob, the orphans, my story, and a trip.
Needing a change of pace.
Blogging to myself is so unsatisfactory. HBO you're on.
Needing a change of pace.
Blogging to myself is so unsatisfactory. HBO you're on.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
too much
Is it too much to ask for a lawnmower that works - or for a lawnguy that has his own mower?
Apparently it is.
My case of the f-its has grown exponentially, once again.
Apparently it is.
My case of the f-its has grown exponentially, once again.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
a cottage - on a tiny, out-of-the-way harbor
This house...has the life. It sits on a secluded island overlooking a harbor. Few know its obscure location.
Dock hanging over crisp cool water clear - beams of light illuminating flecks just beneath the surface.
Currents flow, bringing in and washing out, new life, new adventure, and in the winter when the house stands alone, it still stands, it still has the life, and the harbor, its dock, the light.
It's where i go when i go underground.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tree and Sign both MIA in Falmouth
Last year I blogged about this pic - is it a tree eating sign or a sign eating tree. (I know, the tree is OBVIOUSLY eating the sign.) Well, apparently it's both.
Neither have been seen in or around Falmouth Heights, not by foot, by bike, nor by surrey...
so I have concluded that in order to find the tree - or it's most noteworthy part - one must take a homebuilder tour. That is, tour the homes of Falmouth's homebuilders.
My guess is - inside one of those homes might just be a little kitchy woodwork.
On the road again, Winston Salem to Tampa
After our stay in North Carolina we will be heading further south, destination Tampa.This day shouldn't be as long - 11 hours, 10 minutes - 665 miles. One mom, one grandma, one 4 3/4-year-old, and one dog.
We'll see.
On the road - to Winston Salem
Thursday we head south. A long first day, but then we get to stay with my great friend from college. Estimated drive time - 14 hours, 817 miles. Two days of driving according to my mother.
Too fun.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
