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Showing posts from August, 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

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

Image
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 - kylecrowell.com.  If you know who should get proper credit for this - - by all means, let me know!!

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...

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 R

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