Thursday, August 25, 2011

Gadget - - gotta get it.

Do you remember when magnetic poetry first came out and it was all the rage?  Then they started making the "kits" for sexual innuendos and love and even a kids version?  I LOVED THOSE THINGS!!  (I mean, I loved the regular magnetic poetry kits until I was of an appropriate age and then I found the "dirty" versions hilarious.)   At any rate, I used to think that these things were just a kitschy little fad.  They were fun at other people's homes, but I didn't own any and I certainly never thought about them as serious writing prompts.  Until about a month ago.

I don't know about you, but I very much enjoy iGoogle.  Within iGoogle there is a gadget called, "Magnet Poetry".  Now, keep in mind that it is not as robust as having an entire magnetic poetry kit, but each time you open up your iGoogle home page you will receive about 10-15 pieces including nouns, verbs, -ing, -s, etc., and FYI - - if I am in a rutty little dry spell, it's a pretty handy little idea generator!  Who knew!  Gotta love them gadgets.  (Great, now I have the Inspector Gadget song stuck in my head...Go Gadget Go!)

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Yeah - probably have to do something like this. (...and soon)

I love tattoos.  A lot.  I love the ornate black and white ones, the funny ones, the punny ones, portraits, old sailor tattoos, and everything in between.  Just recently, I stumbled upon this little gem and have become very inspired.  I have been thinking for a while now about getting something that appropriately expresses my love of the written word and keep coming up short.  There are hundreds of quotes that I love - - but I either don't love 'em enough to commit to my body permanently, or they just aren't quite right.  But this, or a variation of this idea, is something I can fully get behind.  Absolutely.

I present to you, "The Bookworm". 

Found through Google images -  If you know who should get proper credit for this - - by all means, let me know!!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Literary rejection is like dating...

I have received another "thanks, but no thanks" letter.  This makes three in total.  Sigh.  I mean, if were to compare this single incident to the world of dating -- it would be nothing.  A simple blip on the radar of love.  I had countless crushes and boyfriends that clearly weren't the real deal before finally stumbling (I might have been tipsy) into the man that would become my husband.  So I'll just consider this particular rejection another bad date of the literary world.  Though they could have at least taken me to a nicer restaurant before dumping me...sheesh.  Oh, well.  Onward, people!  I have poems to write and face to save...

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

My summer reading list - - not a total bust, but close.

Today was my daughter's first day of school, and it made me realize that summer is quickly drawing to a close.  Though I don't feel sad about ending the mind melting 100* temps, I do feel a little guilty about not making further headway on my "it's summer - - time to read until your eyes fall out" list.

I usually try to mix a little new fiction, a little brain candy/romance novels, a little poetry, maybe a little horror/thriller, and I like to throw in a few re-reads.   This might seem like a daunting feat, but considering I generally read one or two books a week, it's not all that intimidating.  The part I feel guilty about, is the large amount of re-reading I did, and the very small amount of new works I took in.  For easy browsing, I've provided lists below to demonstrate this disproportionate relationship:

New Fiction:
Smokin' Seventeen, by Janet Evanovich
Dracula in Love, by Karen Essex
Undead and Undermined, by MaryJanice Davidson
Dead Reckoning, by Charlaine Harris
(No, really.  This is about all of the new literature I took in.  Sad, right?)

Howl, by Allen Ginsberg
Bet Me, by Jenny Crusie
Mindfield, by Gregory Corso
The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran
The Shawshank Redemption, by Stephen King
The Crack in Everything, by Alicia Ostriker
You Suck, by Christopher Moore
Now and Then, by Robert B. Parker
Sign of Seven Trilogy, by Nora Roberts
The Circle Trilogy, by Nora Roberts
(and so on...please note that most of these are from my own bookshelves) 

So, I've decided that in these last few weeks of summer I am going to read only new things - - no more re-reading!  DONE AND DONE. 

Monday, August 8, 2011

It's a story about coming of age, rage, and annoyance.

The other day, while minding my own business at the bus stop waiting to go home after a long hard day at the work place, this young man with whom I have chatted once before comes up to me and begins to show symptoms of verbal diarrhea.  He says, "Ohmigod, how are you? Long time, no see!  What have you been up to?  I've been trying to get back into the work world.  Damn the man, this economy, and this fucking system."  All in one long exhalation.  Then I simply reply, "I've been good.  Just going along to get along."  Apparently my mistake was in replying because holy crap, he just wouldn't stop!  He proceeds to tell me all about how he is getting back to his painting, and how he is going through this surrealist/Dada-ist phase, blah, blah, blah, etc.  All while smoking (sort of - not really inhaling), profusely sweating, and constantly touching his lips.  Weird.  I knew I was sunk when I turned around to see this obviously drunk and toothless man give me the "sorry man, no help here" shoulder shrug.  Awesome.

At this point, I have yet to speak more than my first nine words.  He keeps plowing through his circular thoughts and then begins to talk about poetry.  Even better.  He tells me about how he has four books of poetry published - - well, self published anyway - - and was asked to host a poetry slam at a local coffee house.  Then he turns to me and says, "do you know what a poetry slam is?"  Yes, child.  I know what a slam is.  What I really say to him is, "Yes, I am familiar with what a poetry slam is.  I went to the University to study poetry and creative writing and did a few rounds at the open mic nights during college, and I am actually still writing."  Then he flies right over this piece of personal information to tell me how he is also trying to get back to writing, because he just really wants to give back to the kids who are struggling right now with finding themselves and when he was in high school he was very inspired by his creative writing teacher, who is quite well known in the community.  "Deb McGinn" he says, "do you know of her?" he asks me, dripping with condescension.  Again, yes, child.  I know her.  What I really say is , "I do know her.  She was also my creative writing teacher in high school.  She is an incredibly inspiring woman.  We were both pretty lucky to have her."  This is where things go downhill.  Quickly.

Looking very excited, he asks me what year I graduated from Lincoln High.  (Go Links!)  I tell him, because I am not ashamed, that I graduated in 2000.  His face registers visible shock and he says, "Whoa.  Old skool."  OLD SKOOL!!!  What the hell?  I am not even 30 yet - - OLD SKOOL!!!  Gah.  So, I shove my eyes back in my head, because I am sure the bug eyed demon look I've got going on isn't attractive at all, and politely ask him what year he graduated.  He replies with, "2008."  Of course.  I have spent the last 15 minutes listening to a 21 year old tell me about how hard life is, and how he has four books of poetry published, and is hosting a poetry slam.  He doesn't know this, but I have officially ended this conversation.  We're done here.  You don't get to flaunt your four published books AND get to call me old without repercussions. 

Gentle readers, this is the point where I had to make a decision.  Do I fake a smile and see if I can wiggle my way into his poetry slam?  Do I ask him about his publishing experience?  Do I try to crawl back in to the writing community by this particular channel?  NO.  The answer is unequivocally, NO.  This boy is one tent short of a circus and I ain't buying a ticket.  I will just keep on keeping on in my own way.  So, yeah.  Best day ever.  I got showed up by one of the crazies AND called old for the first time.