loose leaf and spiral bound

If you know me at all, you know that I love music. I will shush you in the truck when a good song comes on. I will dance in any Target or grocery store or waiting room if one of my jams comes over the speakers. I have very specific play-lists for happy days, crappy days, melancholy days, etc. Music matters to me in a way that is hard to express. BUT, I have finally found a way to explain it. Sort of. The look on the guy's face at 4:30 in the video below is everything. It's love, it's hope, it's faith, it's happiness...all of it. That's what music does. Whether you are playing music or listening to music, it can be whatever you need it to be. Music never asks you "why" and it doesn't ask for anything in return. (Well, it might ask for $0.99 if you want to download it...) Also, this is what writing does for me. It lets me feel whatever I need to feel. It lets me get out whatever I've been harboring inside. It doesn't ask me why and ...

I literally just finished reading Fangirl , by Rainbow Rowell. Seriously, I read the last page about 15 minutes ago. I'm not going to launch into a review of the book here (BTW, I thought it was fantastic) but I can tell you that it made me feel all the feels. It made me remember what it was like to be 18. Made me remember all of the horror and glory. So now that I've got the feels and caffeine coursing through my system - - here's the start of a poem. I'm sure there is much more to this buried underneath 13 years of brain stuff, but this is what I've got right now... Golden Delicious Feeling my way through the pieces of yesterday. Some of them are smooth like a worry stone in your pocket. Others are jagged and painful like a chipped front tooth. My voice is singing old songs. Lips and tongue moving on auto pilot. I can smell the second hand smoke. I can taste the cold Pad Thai mixed with lukewarm coffee. Makes me think of all the times I wouldn't take your ha...

Yup. I did it again. I put my poetry in the UNL Staff Art Show. AGAIN. I know that last year I was a nervous wreck at the First Friday reception for the university staff art show, and this year wasn't any easier. It was almost worse because I knew what to expect this time. I knew there would be a guest book where strangers could leave notes about the pieces on display and there was no way I could not look at the book. Like a moth to a flame I started flipping through the pages to see if anyone had anything to say about my stuff. Well, they did. AND IT WAS LOVELY!! I was beyond elated. These two folks took the time to jot down their thoughts and it made me feel so good inside. Totally worth the nausea and sweaty palms. There is no need to reiterate to you all that I am by no means an artist by definition. Sure, I like to make things and try new artsy stuff that I see on DIY blogs - - but I am a writer. That's my sweet spot. Sometimes I like to display my writi...

Occasionally, my emotions are so overwhelming it seems like I could stop time and actually touch my feelings; like they are tangible things I could hold in my hands and rotate, look at, and dissect. This weekend we (me, my husband, and my daughter) loaded up in our old Chevy truck and drove out to my mother's house in rural Nebraska for dinner. It was early evening, the sun was bright, the breeze was cool, the windows were down, and the radio was up. The three of us didn't have to talk to fill the gaps between us on the bench seat. We were comfortable just singing along with the Top 40 country songs coming through the speakers. As we drove along, I felt...well, I just felt. I felt strong, loved, and perfectly perfect. It was one of those rare moments-in-time when all is right in the world. There really wasn't anything extra special about the day, the drive, or the song. We've driven that stretch of highway countless times together. But that moment was special - the ...

Though it pains me to admit this, there are times that I get insanely jealous of those people who can draw and paint and bring things to life in that way. Instead of letting jealousy eat away at my insides, I do what comes naturally and use my words to tell a story. I give a voice to those people captured in portraits and paintings. And you know what? There is merit in that, too. Take this as an example of "art skills that make Jenn jealous": You can buy this. You should. It's stunning.   http://society6.com/ObedRaimundo/Soft-Skin_Print#1=45 How could I not get lost in her? How could I not think about what she's feeling and what put that look on her face? After I waded through my initial reaction to this piece, I took the next logical step and told my version of her story. The words came pouring out almost faster than I could write. (Thank God for computers, auto-saving, and spell check.) Admittedly, there is a little of my story in there. Maybe a little of my...

Recently, I discovered that Mark Hall is a brilliant music composer and producer. He ever so graciously gave me permission to peruse some of his pieces and use them to jump start my writing flow. Here's the thing - - I love music of every kind. I played the clarinet for 8 years in the school concert band (Yes, I was a band nerd. Hard to believe, right?) and I can associate all of my favorite memories with particular songs. It's just how I'm built. I love listening to movie scores and putting myself in a "mood" and I take my daily play list at work very seriously. With that said, I had never thought to reverse the process and listen to a song first and THEN figure out the story to go with it. But that is exactly what Mark let me do. Thanks for that. (I'm not even being sarcastic. Seriously, thanks.) For reference, track #2 was the inspiration for this poem. I heard the first 30 seconds and knew precisely what was going on in that house. " This hous...

If you'll recall, I told you a while back about how my very dear friend was riding his bicycle from California to New York with the purpose of spreading the word about suicide awareness and prevention and the healing power of art. His non-profit organization, RISE , is amazing. You really should check out their site. He and his friend quit their jobs, put all of their worldly possessions in storage and set out to make a difference. ANYWAY, I decided that I was going to do something pretty rad , and I began writing a piece of poetry as they were riding across the United States. It was hard because I couldn't move forward until they did. This was such an important piece for me to write because of the pride I have in those two and what they accomplished and I really don't have a better way to show them other than writing it down. It is sincerely humbling to have friends like these. So here it is. I call this one, "Rising in Three Parts": 1. An Open Letter to a Frie...

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...

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...

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...

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.

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up and you just want to do every-little-frickin-thing?  Yeah.  I woke up and immediately wanted to create something.  Everything.  Right now. I mean, I had a fiery vengeance to work on new poems, rework old poems, do some more writing for the photography book I've been asked to co-author, and to doodle some new cartoons, and to mod podge the shit out of some collages.  I wanted to be consumed by creativity and OWN IT. Then, I spent the next hour on Facebook and Google+.  (sigh...)  I'm still itchy, though.  Ready to tear through some poetry like my life depends on it.  But I also want to make collages...  and look through photos for inspiration... and finish that book of poems by Malcolm Lowry. I mean, the trouble here could be that I've been awake since 6:30 a.m. and have emptied an entire pot of coffee by myself.  Whatever.  I'm going to Hobby Lobby....