Blogger saves every bundle of virtual trash in the form of drafts. Why have I not purged them, you ask? Not sure. Will this post be the equivalent of false starts and missteps tattooed on my writerly reputation? Quite possible. For most of them, I have no idea what road I was headed down. But dead-ends can be fun, too. Whee! Ready?
12.01.10 It's entirely possible I may have to go to confession after this post, but we'll try to keep the subject of Father-What-A-Wastes on the high-end of classy. Girls who grew up Catholic know to whom I refer. That priest that moved from a different diocese who sparked your sudden interest in attending mass-frequently and with aplomb enough to fill a convent. The one you'd never let hear your confession for fear you'd leave out the one thing you should confess. The one that was so rare, so angelic of face, you finally understood the whole in-God's-image schtick. I always imagined it quite a burden to someone who wished to be acknowledged for more spiritual things.
Lest you believe I am making this up, Hollywood has capitalized on this unattainable fantasy born in the hearts of pubescent girls all over the world.
8.30.09 Of late, I admit to being the fickle conductor in my own symphony. I don't like being this way. It's a rare state for me. I'm not sure why this mind spasm has dominated the past two weeks, but it feels rather like chasing my own tail right back to the spot I began. I've assembled before me an orchestra of writers and readers, all of varying instruments and tastes, each well-meaning and genuine. I adore them all for what they have brought to symphonies past. I would have nothing of value guiding my wand were it not for each one of them. But today, I wave my arms (in dramatic diva fashion) and declare "Silence!"
Today, it can no longer be their notes or the attitude with which they attack the strings. It can only be the music in my head. Even me, of little faith in my own instincts...
3/27/08 I actually have four longer posts backing up in my mind I'll get to eventually, bu...
2/20/08 Remember when you were younger and calling "Time and Temperature" amounted to a daily ritual of self-importance? Maybe in your limited pre-teen social demographic, the act of dialing the phone thrust you into a simulated state of popularity. Maybe you became the gatekeeper to your family's day's coiture--a pint-sized forecaster. Maybe this is all just me and I've laid out for you some semi-neurotic starting point for the whole time thing. But, admit it. Knowing you've calibrated your life to some kind of official standard does synchronize you to the world in a deep breath kind of way, right?
10.03.07 I'm amazed at the number of shows on TV right now that deal with the supernatural. Maybe I'm more tuned into them because it's Halloween, but it seems almost every channel has something about spirit guides, psychic rescuers and ghost hunters. So, in the spirit of the season, I offer you my own ghost story.
Our house is new construction, built on land that, no doubt, has been part of the state's cattle industry back to the city's inception. Before that, frontier land.
When we moved in five years ago, I'd never seen anything I'd categorize as a strange phenomenon. I'd had the experiences of deja-vu and even a sixth sense, especially when it came to family, but nothing like the flashes I began to experience here. First, the image of an adult--someone at my height--turning the corner in our pitch-black hallway. Of course, I dismissed it as my mind playing tricks on me. I'd been up writing long after everyone else had gone to sleep and the faint blue glow could have been some kind of monitor after-burn on my eyes.
6.25.07 James Lipton will never ask me these questions, but my writer friend, Shannon, has tagged me to answer these infamous questions from Inside the Actor's Studio. Here goes:
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word? Denied
What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)?
What turns you off?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What is your favorite curse word? Son-of-a-bitch
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Click through if you're on feed and vote for the draft you'd most like to see finished and posted.
Oh, and have a raining-awesome kind of weekend.