loose leaf and spiral bound

Once again, Jimmy Blackwell and I worked on another shared writing prompt. He tackled seeing the light that lives in the dark (which you can read here ) - - and I took on when darkness hides inside the light. I've got to say that this was a tricky prompt for me and gave me more than a few shaky moments. It has honestly taken me waaaaay longer than the allotted two weeks to get this far. This is rough and raw, so be gentle...I am an optimistic person by nature and discussing darkness is tough for me. Makes me go to a place that is uncomfortable to some degree. Like that saying "hurt so good"? Something like that. It's not that I won't go there or don't want to go there - it's just a touch difficult. But good for me. So here it is: Together We looked so damned beautiful together. Friends wanted to be us. Around us at a minimum. Our picture perfectness was awful. Horrible. Intolerable at best. Our bright shiny smiles full of too many white teeth blinded th

Remember how I went off on a rant about how I hate going back to my "Graveyard" folder and looking through shitty old poems? Well, apparently I challenged myself. A double-dog-dare, if you will. Stupid me. I took three of the poems that were in the The Graveyard and resurrected them. Just plunked all of them "as is" into one document and went to work. This is what happened. My own little Frankenpoem...not sure I love it, but I don't think I hate it. I've titled it, " The Graveyard Revisited ": My broken pride drove me home this morning. The radio massaged into my brain endless lines and lyrics of love songs, until my pain puked me into slumber. Cuddled so close to nightmares of things I could have, would have, should have said. But, you do not know how to operate a touch tone phone. So instead, my confused confidence will hide out in what used to be your spot on the couch. I'll keep sleeping on this couch. It'll keep warm from the te

It has recently been pointed out to me that I am that terribly annoying person who is constantly looking for the good in every situation. Gag, right? I know. Alas, this is another one of my "things" that I do. Car broke down? No problem, your new adventure will be riding the bus and making all sorts of fun friends. Washed your wool sweater in hot water and it shrunk? Who cares! Now your doggy has some trendy new apparel. The only time this is not my "thing" is when I am reviewing some of my older or unfinished poems that I have relegated to my "Graveyard" file. I have a very hard time going through those old poems already deemed craptacular and finding a solid nugget to work with. This is unfortunate because I write half started/finished poems down all of the time. I enjoy it. I like getting the brainwaves going and the words rolling off of my tongue and there is never a better feeling than knowing you are just absolutely knocking it out of the park and

I know I have talked about "the feeling" before.  You know, the particular tingle that starts at the top of your head and moves down to the nape of your neck, out through your shoulders, and ends up as goosebumps all along your arms? "The feeling" that reverberates through your spine and ends somewhere around your tailbone? This is the feeling I want when I write. Sometimes I can bait the feeling with music. What songs specifically, you ask? Well, I've got a short list right here for you! No, I didn't go all "High Fidelity" and rank them and group them by category. It's just a list, in no particular order... Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd Wonderwall - Oasis The Light - Common Tattoos on this Town - Jason Aldean Love Like You - Paper Tongues Closer to the Edge - 30 Seconds to Mars To Make You Feel My Love - Garth Brooks (yes, I did mean this version, not Adele) Fall to Pieces - Velvet Revolver (No, most definitely not the Patsy Cline s

So, while having a quick chat online with Jimmy Blackwell (...go ahead, click on it and check out some of his writing. Do it.) about writing dialogue for fiction pieces, he said/wrote this particular phrase that jumped up and punched me in the throat. He said, " Rather those who possess the skill to tell a captivating story have the power to tame the world ". WHOA! Even though I am total crap at writing dialogue, I know when an opportunity for a poem is knocking on my door. I did what any normal girl would do and proposed that we each take that line and come up with a piece based on it, and then see what happens. We gave ourselves a week. Well, it has been a week and here is my piece titled, The Storyteller: Storyteller. Yes, a story yeller. From the rooftops to the rocking chairs. I am. The believer, doer, knower, feeler. Dream painter, heart healer risk maker, and love taker. I am all of this and so are you. Words falling from my mouth like rain. Catch them on your to

Do you ever get the feeling that when people talk about creative writing, they are implying air-quotes? Like "Creative Writing" (sigh, eye roll, air quotes)? As if it is something to be mocked? I really don't think they understand that creative writing is much more than sonnets, soliloquies, and iambic pentameter. It is song lyrics, movie scripts, and stand up comedy routines. It is fortune cookie slips, advertising copy, and op-ed pieces. Know what you don't ever hear: "I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly? You're a rocket scientist? How useful is that in everyday life? I can't believe your parents supported that college major!".  Sheesh. To each their own, right? Yes. I am a writer. A creative one at that. A friend of mine found this on the interwebs and sent it to me. Yes, she was also an English major in college. How'd you guess?

What a way to spend my lunch hour, eh?  Here's the seventh part to my Zodiac writing prompt exercise titled, Contra: Your memory is uncanny. How do you recall these details? The extra fine curves and lines of the lies we happily told each other. The way you can describe our first meeting makes me nervous. I remember it much differently. And with difficulty. I thought you wanted only yourself for company. Possibly your scotch. That I wasn't good enough. Not funny enough. Not clever. Not captivating. Now I find you wanted me as more. As all. As yours. Definitely not his. Living inside past memories and dreams of the future is dangerous. (For both of us.) Why remain silent about the here and now? I am not a bird in a cage to set free and watch. Not serendipity in human form. Arms out and fingers grabbing for chances. If you want me, show me. Come and get me As a woman, I may be a contradiction. But you, are just plain contrary.

...unless you are going to say something negative about me. Then you can just keep it to yourself. No, no. Seriously. I need to be honest here. I have not submitted a single piece of writing since June. There, I said it. It seems like I have been writing some new stuff and editing some existing pieces, but I have simply been too lazy to submit. That is all there is to it. I am not nervous about submission and am not anxious about rejection letters - I am just being lazy. This is a seriously sad state of affairs because I will certainly never get published if I don't submit. I recognize this vicious circle and have instead opted to watch episodes of Weeds on Netflix. Well, no time like the present to make some changes. Guess I'll go look at my submission spreadsheet (Yes, spreadsheet. Don't judge me.) and get my ass in gear. Here is my dog Jasper being as lazy as I feel. It is possible that his reluctance to help me fold laundry is due to his lack of opposable th

So, there I was, walking around the neighborhood and minding my own business when I saw this old blue chair stashed in the way back of a yard. It wasn't too far from my house so I hustled back and grabbed my camera. This blue metal chair looked to me like something that belonged on a movie set somewhere down south. I'm thinking on the bayou, maybe? It looked like a chair that I should sit in and think about things. Every-little-thing. All of the things. At any rate, I got to thinking and you know what happens then...either awesome things or terrible things...In this case, it turned out to be just mediocre things. However, some of those mediocre things might make for a good poem some day. Here are some of the lines and phrases I thought of: Sucked into a pull with no control - can't push. But these reflexes are simple: fight or flight. Flayed by the sharp lash of your tongue and scarred by the daggers in your eyes. Is it really and truly a second chance when you ne

I am trying something totally new. You see, I have this very dear friend of mine, Zachary Chipps, who has started a non profit organization called, RISE. He and his friend Thomas Brown are bicycling their way across the United States to raise awareness about suicide, suicide prevention, and the healing power of art. I am not going to go into too much detail about them and their mission, but if you want to know more please visit their website , look 'em up on Facebook, Twitter, and/or YouTube. Seriously, it's pretty impressive what they've done and are continuing to do. Okay, I am digressing. Sorry. As Zak has been riding his way across the country from San Francisco to New York, I've been listening to his story over the phone, on Skype, and by picking up little bits and pieces through the blog, videos, and Facebook posts. I am literally writing as they are riding. Trying to capture the nuances of their ups and downs, successes and let downs as they go. The awesome t

Well, July happened. So, there's that. Hello August - may I introduce you to my next writing prompt? Excellent. Here it is...titled, "Twin Curiosities" Discussed, dissected, and doubted. I've learned this is how you like it. To be talked about, fawned over, leaned on, learned from. Center of it all. Twin faces in the mirror of watchful gazes. I can see both of you at a glance. But when I squint my eyes - just as if I were looking at the sun - - that is when you come into focus.

Okay, let me give you a little bit of back story. My friend (and coincidentally, my cousin) was able to secure some tickets to a Counting Crows concert and she ever so graciously invited me to attend with her. We arrived to the outdoor concert area a touch early to find good parking and pick up our tickets, so we killed some time by meandering around the park. That is when we stumbled upon this little nugget of comedy gold: Get it? Vanna White? Bahahahaha! VANNA WHITE!!!!  You cannot tell me this is not hilarious! I am guessing this was but one of the many vans from the opening acts. I absolutely used to openly make fun of those girls in high school who would name their cars. Thought is was hysterical when grown men would refer to their muscle cars with a feminine pronoun - - but all of that pretentious and snotty attitude has been erased! Because this is EPIC. Well played musicians and concert crew. Well played, indeed. She is a thing of beauty to be treasured always.

Really, all I ask for is an hour to myself (that and a computer, pot of coffee, music, and my notebook. Okay, and maybe some Chic-O-Sticks.). I can get so much done! For real. I promise. All throughout the day/week/month I keep tidbits and snippits of phrases and turns of words that I like in a spiral bound notebook. Then I like to sit down at my computer with really loud music and put them into an electronic word document with no thought process - just plain old transcription.  THEN I go back through and edit the shit out of that hot mess and make some poems. But I just need that one room and that magical hour to myself! For me, this is probably the hardest part of being a poet - finding time for the fine tuning. In the grand scheme of things this seems like such a trite complaint. But dammit, right now I am frustrated and this is what happens: I get to rant about it on my blog. (Isn't that the whole point of the interwebs!?! Well, that and making memes.) In case you are w

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day and somehow we ended up talking about what makes us happy in life (you know, other than the obvious things like our spouses and children). My friend was so exuberant in their passion for art (a fairly traditional "artist" if you will with the painting and the drawing and whatnot). It was infectious and contagious. So I started talking about my writing and poetry and how it made me feel and my hopes and wants and...then they were just staring at me...and then it happened.  I BLUSHED! If you know me, you know that I cuss like a foul mouthed trucker, have no qualms about a good and perverted joke, and am generally a crass person. But apparently when speaking about my poetry and writing I turn all soft and gooey, and this "softer side" of me is shocking to folks. Seeing this amazement register so plainly on a person's face because they figured out that I have emotions MADE ME BLUSH! Please keep in m

Well holy shit!  Can you believe that it has already been one entire year since I started this little blog?  That's right, on May 31, 2011 I decided that I needed a little accountability in my writing world and "loose leaf and spiral bound" was born... So, I'm sure you're wondering if it worked, right?  As of today, I am happy to report that I have in fact kept the promise I made to myself and have sent out poems each and every-single-frickin' month.  BAM!  That's right folks, I have submitted to eleven different literary journals and magazines and will be mailing number twelve tomorrow (because why wouldn't I procrastinate until the very last minute of the very last day of the month). Again I say to you, and with borderline excessive enthusiasm, BAM ! In all honesty, I am very proud of my meager success.  No, I haven't been picked up for publishing yet (suck) but I have managed to set a goal and keep it (yay). Along the way I have attracted

Hey there writing exercise! Long time, no see! To pick up where I last left off - - here we go with #5, titled... In a bind You call yourself independent. What you are is isolated. Never wanting me to take the lead, but never wanting to be left behind. I can see you debating me, but I cannot see your intent. Will you love me so fiercely? Push me to be my best for you? And why? For my gain or your pride? You expect reciprocity without earning it. Because you are stubborn... and foolish... and dammit, you are loyal. This loyalty will be the tie that binds. A chain holding me to you. And you to your independence.

I have used the past few days (or if I am being honest, the past week) to focus on reading instead of writing. Sometimes you need to refill the gas tank, right? Right. What did I read, you ask? Well, I'll tell you...I read the Hunger Games trilogy (yeah, I finally jumped on that train), then I re-read "The Summer of Black Widows" by Sherman Alexie, "Bite Me" by Christopher Moore, and then I devoured "The Gargoyle" by Andrew Davidson (so good!). It's true that only one of those books is a collection of poetry - - but to me it doesn't matter the genre, only that I am reading. It seems imperative to expose yourself (heh, not like that you dirty bird) to as many different lives, dreams, opinions, and stories as possible. You'll never experience everything all on your own, sometimes you've got to hear it from someone else. After all, isn't that one of the reasons why people write?  To share their story in hopes of connecting with som

Some days I want to write it all down and get it all out because it hurts to keep it all in...whatever "it" may be. There is significant frustration that comes from not being able to adequately convey feelings through simple words. For every second wasted thinking over synonyms is a second more that the frustration and anger can fill up and take over the original emotion you were writing about. You must bring yourself back to the exact moment you first felt compelled to write, center yourself, and start fresh. There are days when I have more inside my head and heart than I can hold. It may seem as though I am phoning it in with this blog post - but it's been a struggle to identify exactly how I feel these past few days and what kind of mood this is. It feels like cobwebs on my face and I can't quite pull them away to examine them up close. Once I get it together, there should be a poem waiting for me.

Okay gang.  It's been quite some time since I have posted.  No more chit-chat. Here we go. Once again, I called upon my friend Zak to supply me with a picture to use as a writing prompt. He did not fail me. So, here is the photo... "Desert near Joshua Tree" Photo credit: Zachary Chipps 2012 And here is my piece titled, " Sharing the Joshua Tree "... Deserts are never deserted. This isolation is all in your head. No one could be alone here. Not really. Even when you try. This is the land of solace. No pretenses. You will be seen, but not judged. You will be weighed, but not measured. This place doesn't care if you remember your dreams. Only that you have them. Just open your eyes and go. Follow the horizon divide, mountainside, or center line. It's all the same as long as you are going. Somewhere. Anywhere. I will share my Joshua Tree with you. Because we are never alone here. Not really. Even when we try.

Let me take you back. Thursday night. The plan fell into place perfectly. Serendipity at its finest. Husband left for some night fishing, daughter was doing her nightly reading, the dogs were outside - - all was quiet and well. I thought to myself, "Jenn, what a perfect time to put down on paper all those thoughts rattling around in your head." So I did.  And for 20 minutes it was glorious... Then I was startled out of my skivvies by the incredibly loud kitchen timer my child sets to indicate she has done her required reading. Yes, my 20 minutes of quiet time were over. That sweet child of mine looked at me with her big baby blues and said, "Is it okay if I watch some music videos on YouTube before bed? I'll keep it down so you can finish writing (blink, blink, smile)." Oh, do you think I could deny her? No. The answer is no. Usually, I can handle music in the background. In fact, there are times I purposely play music while writing. It can help set a mood o

Alright, installment number four in my writing exercise. This time I am going for the "stream of conscious" paragraph form. It's a little different than my usual style, but it definitely serves a purpose in a writer's arsenal. Without further ado, here is Zodiac exercise #4 titled,  You cannot stand to lose: Stubborn and stern. Cannot fathom being wrong. When will it be my turn? My chance to steer this ship, my time to plot our course, my right to speak and be heard above your noise. I promise to make a mad dash for my finish line behind your back. Don't blink. It's not that you trust me so much, it's that you think of me so little. Remember: those who go unnoticed are those who move mountains and make your kingdoms crumble. So stubborn and stern. Unyielding and firm. Cannot abide weakness. These things we hold in common. When will you stop talking rather than demand others to speak less. Your single battle is but a sideshow in my perfect war. You cann

Okay, I really did slack off during the month of February in terms of having "submission-ready" pieces, well, ready to submit. Sorry. I suck. It happens and I've already moved on from my guilt. HOWEVER, what I did do was put out a few good writing exercises, asked a friend to read over some of my work for the first time, and met with one of my former college professors. Both of these things were time well spent and are currently helping me get on track to submit for March.  Perhaps I will take the advice given to me and begin doing multiple submissions. The more pieces I get out there to more places should only increase my chances of getting a "yes", right? Seems logical. Like I said, maybe not so productive in one area (ahem...cough *submitting* cough), but totally nailed it in others. This trying to get published business is not all frivolity, lattes, and quite moments of epic pondering. It's work...but worth it.

I am taking a break from poetry today. Thus the random blog post. Enjoy. There are quite a few folks out there obsessively planning for impending doom - apocalypse if you will - brought on by zombies.  These folks are planning in terms of weapons and warfare. I am planning in terms of play list. That's right, I am creating the perfect "mixed tape" for the Zombie Apocalypse. I have solicited opinions from friends, co-workers, and family. Here's the list so far: Disturbia, Rhianna Tighten Up, Black Keys Teeth, Lady Gaga Feel Good Inc., Gorillaz Machine Head, Bush Crazy, Gnarls Barkely Hard Knock Life, Jay-Z Tik Tok, Ke$ha Is There a Ghost, Band of Horses Sabotage, Beastie Boys Johnny B. Goode, Chuck Berry Lazy Song, Bruno Mars Rappers Delight, Sugar Hill Gang 1979, Smashing Pumpkins Rooster, Alice in chains Blackbird, The Beatles End of the World as We Know It, REM (...duh) Feel free to make additions as you see fit.  Let me know wh

Yes, it is that time again. Time for the third installment of my Zodiac writing exercise. (You'll notice that Capricorn was an acrostic poem, Aquarius attempted some mild rhyming, and Pisces will go the sestina route.  Well, sort of. This will be a bastardized version of a sestina.) Okay, I am choosing five words that relate to Pisces. I'll use them in order 1-5 as the last word of each line for one stanza, then 5-1 as the last word of each line for another stanza, then I'll jumble them all up for two lines as my ending. Ready?  Here are my words: secrets dream feel water two Here is my poem titled, Duo : Between us we keep space, but no secrets. Against our skin the world feels harsh; needing the blurred lines of a dream. Edges are too sharp for touching and I cannot feel. My tears and your laughter, both flowing like water. Knowing what comes next is step two. Knowing the pieces of my whole equals us, just two. I can easily swim through your thoughts li

I took a round about way to fixing my mental block and asked a very dear friend of mine to please send a few pictures that I could use for writing prompts.  He quickly recognized the importance of this request and graciously acquiesced.  What a good friend, eh?  So, here is the photo... Photo credit: Zachary Chipps 2012 And here is my accompanying piece of poetry, aptly titled:  Between a Rock and a Hard Place ... There is more to living than just growing. Thriving, defying, gaining; becoming something stronger. This is bold. It is not how you surround yourself.  Protect yourself. More than that, it is where you put down roots. How far you let them go. How deep. Not delicate.  This one, blooming in full sun. Throwing its petals out, face up, and owning the heat. Feeling the glory. A small victory at every sunset. A new defeat every day.

Okay guys and dolls, I know that it has been a while since I last posted anything.  Apologies all around.  However, after a busy weekend, I now have a stunning new kitchen so I don't really feel all that guilty.  Alas, I have not forgotten my quest for the Zodiac exercise.  Now ladies and gents, I present the second installment...and I warn you that rhyming is not my strong suit.  (Unless I do it in jest.  Then, I am the best.  See what I did just there?) Aquarius: a rhyme of moderately epic proportions I seem to be the beast.  This, my burden to bear. Carrying a delicate but sturdy jug, brimming with a grandmother's hopes, a teacher's plans, and a soldier's fears. My vessel drawn with images of happiness, colored by despair. Spill not one small wet bead. As each is a precious piece of more. Wishes, lies, and fate. All cautioning to slow down and take heed. Mustn't resent the work, the load, the responsibility. It's done for humanity. My humility

Yes...five.  The number of rejection letters I have collected to date.  Instead of being upset by this number, I have decided to think of things that are awesome about five.  As in, without it, there would be no high-fives, no five fingered discounts, and no band called "Five for Fighting".  (Though I don't think that last one would pain me so much.)  No Five Alive juice, no Five for $5.55 deals, and no chance to "take five".  To be honest, I must tell you that I am a little discouraged by getting five "thanks, but no thanks" letters.  However, all it will take is just one "Yes, Please" and all of this will be forgotten...like yesterday's five o'clock news.

Okay, here's entry #1.  I present to you Capricorn . Now, keep in mind that I don't love the whole thing overall, but there are a few lines that I like and just might pull out of there and start something new.  I like the way, "careful to a fault, reckless to precision" sounds.  It brings to mind a  very different image.  But, if in nine lines I found one that spurs on something bigger and better, this exercise can be called a success.  BAM! (Correction: sigh...line 7...*may be plain....this is what happens when you try to make things purty and argue with your child simultaneously.) "Capricorn".  Copyright - Jennifer Klein. 2012. 

I've been struggling with the quality of my writing (or lack thereof) for about a week now.  I still haven't totally climbed out of the dreaded vortex of writer's block and the things that used to be a "can't miss" for inspiration are not even showing up on the target.  Clearly, inspiration is indeed a fickle mistress.  I feel wrong trying to ply her with alcohol.  Even worse when I play songs only for the express purpose of getting her to dance.  (Read: drinking frozen pouches of margaritas and dancing around to INXS will not always bring forth your muse.)  Don't get me wrong, I'm still writing and "dear diary-ing" like an angst-riddled teenager, but I haven't put anything down that gives me the tingles.  It seems like the new thing to try these days is one of those one-a-day challenges pertaining to your specific medium of choice.  But I don't think I want to jump on that bandwagon.  It seems a bit intimidating.  Perhaps I should

So, I have joined my office's "100 Days of Wellness" team.  We are supposed to compete with other teams by logging our daily activity minutes.  We really do this in hopes of winning fantastic prizes, and perhaps maybe, we'll develop a habit of exercising.  I decided that I would do a combination of walking and yoga/stretching because a) I sure as shit am not running unless there is a slobbering, foaming, and clearly rabid dog chasing after me, and b) I thought the yoga/stretching would also give me the opportunity to clear out the noise in my head for a bit.  Maybe if I could clear out some of the debris, I would have more room for creative images and ideas.  HA!  Yeah, it absolutely doesn't happen that way for me.  In terms of calm and quiet yoga, that is.  I can walk just fine, thank you very much. Let me paint you a picture of how 15 minutes of yoga goes for me... Me: "DOGS!!  Go on!  Seriously, just because I am sitting on the floor does not mean I am

...is that it is all so subjective and relative.  You don't get measured based on a certain rubric when you submit a poem for publication.  The editors don't send back to you a grading sheet that says, "while you meet standard criteria for areas A, B, and C, we found you severely lacking in area D."  Wouldn't that be nice?  To get some specific feedback that you could work with and then be able to make changes that would significantly increase your chances of publication?  Instead, it seems you blindly submit a poem to publication after publication, never really knowing if you should make any edits between submission #1 and resubmission #38.  A friend of mine suggested that I find a mentor.  Someone who is "in the game" of publishing poetry who would be willing take me under their literary wing and offer constructive criticism as well as guidance.  This is probably good advice.  My road block here is that I don't know where to begin hunting this pe

Let me tell you about how miserably I am failing at writing poems of substance this week. I AM FAILING MISERABLY AT WRITING POEMS OF SUBSTANCE THIS WEEK!  (So. Bad.)  Folks, I have reached the point where I would rather dig my eyes out with spoons than open up my notebook and do nothing more than stare at blank pages.  Or, open my notebook and force myself to start writing, only to find that I am writing total crap.  I mean, some of the lines I have been churning out read like stuff I would have puked up in the 9th grade after being dumped by a boy with better hair than I, followed by listening to my Lisa Loeb and Cranberries CD's on repeat.  Ick.  Let me tell ya, that is not a good head space to be in when trying to write decent poetry.  At any rate, I'm going to wrap up this little jewel of a blog post and take the rest of the day off from reading and/or writing poetry.  Perhaps tomorrow will prove more fruitful.  In the meanwhile, imma go dig out my Cranberries CD and

I know lots and lots of folks out there resolving to go the "new year = new me" route.  I, however, am going to go the "new year, same me" route.  It's taken quite a while to reach this place where I am comfortable in my skin and with my thoughts - I'd rather not leave so soon.  Honestly, it's been pretty stressful breaking through the wall of fear and putting my writing out where the world can read it (and judge it), but I don't want to go back to holding it all in. So for 2012, I am not resolving to change anything.  Not one thing.  I am instead going to stay the course and keep up with my goal of submitting pieces for publication once a month.  That seems like a better resolution to me.  I resolve to be resolute?  Eh, whatever.  Bring it on 2012.  I'm ready.  (You can't see me doing it, but I am giving it the old Hulk-a-mania stance...yeah, you're welcome for that mental picture.)