3.16. Successful Rant

She stands at the podium…waiting in silence until the clearing of someones throat brings her back to the pressure point. All eyes on the girl, all focus on her shortcomings and the fact she’s unprepared. The music has fallen short; magnifying her comings and goings that have propelled full steam ahead into the success of a nobody. She stands at the podium and tries to avoid eye contact, searching the matrix for some escape route but things like that don’t exist in places like this. She is quiet and time passes, awkwardly and uncomfortably. The timer stops and she removes herself from their ridicule and disdain…though they are silent…she can smell it, sense it, feel it…taste the annoyance.

They asked her to speak of what it felt like to be successful.

She’d said not a word.


3.15. Tech Issues

Sooooo, day 1 of NaNoWriMo is underway. Needless to say, it was a rough start. I reattempted to use Scrivener, for organization purposes, after losing my entire novel mapping about two weeks ago. The IMAC still wont start up so that’s a dead issue. Literally. So, I try it on my other computer at midnight. Ive got music, snacks, and a plan. I type for about an hour and get about 1600 words Im stoked about. I hit save as and the entire thing is erased. Gone. Vanished. NOT THERE. Im crushed. I cry for a good 30 minutes in the shower and vow that God hates me and Im not writing this novel as I believe this is a sign.
After looking up online, I find that scrivener had or has a bug that makes the save as option clear all work instead of saving. I decide to try again and use save instead.  So far, so good though I’m still a bit nervous.
There is obviously a reason I lost the initial work but I refuse to believe its because Im not meant to write this novel. And so, the beat goes on. Good luck to all my fellow participants!!!!

3.14. Countdown

Just a few more hours until NaNoWriMo begins. I will admit, I am a touch stressed. Life has not been kind lately and I have so much on such a small plate. Yet, I tell myself that it is important to my spirit to forge forward and continue to engulf myself in my writing as I have in the past when things are going much better. I am nervous I will not complete this, I will be sidetracked by having so much going on in life, by complete fear of this project being a waste of time. I’ll do it, nonetheless, because I have to.

3.13. Here We Are Again

It’s that time of year again…NaNoWriMo. I am excited to start working on book 3 of my series (something I hope I actually follow through with). I was stoked to be using Scrivener until the IMAC I was using completely went to shit while I was prepping. Not exactly happy about that. So, I’m starting from scratch in terms of my prep. Everything happens for a reason so we shall see how this changes things.

Hopefully, I can stay on track and get this book done in the next 30 days amidst all of my own life drama. Here’s hoping.

3.1. I Write…

Because the ink is my air

And the words are my breaths.

Because it hurts to stifle the gypsies that dance in the catacombs of this mind.

Because the thirst is vampiric

Primal and raw.

Because nothing is so delicate as the clacking of keys

Stroking of pens

Slide of paper

Visions of a visionary

The bird that soars within me

Free to speak and preach and be


To give and tell and share and project

Images onto the wall

Because they are real

Each character and place

The plot has happened within me

The souls linger

Begging to be recognized

Acknowledged .

Forget the rest. This is not about poetics but the dream within the dream that runs from a brutal reality of living nightmares.

This is my ladder out of the dark hole. This is my rope of redemption. Pulling myself from the grave I was shoved into from the womb.

Because of a family tree that has rotted and withered in the darkness of secrets.

Because I want to be more than a dealer, a player, a con, a liar, a manipulator, a thief, a criminal, a user, an abuser.

Because these words are the seeds to plant new trees.

Of shade and fruit

That will bare the souls of stories and stories of souls.

Because my son will NEVER go to sleep hungry.

Because my son will NEVER know the shame of monopoly money.

Because my son will NEVER hide in a school bathroom, stifling his own cries within a stall as the remnants of their words bloom into scars upon the fleshy self-esteem they devour.

Because my son will NEVER will never be asked to be a part of the con so tomorrow can be easier. And I still wonder if those debilitating migraines stem from her wicked demands of bashing a broken piece of wall against my adolescent skull because “you’ve got to make it believable so we can sue.”

Because my son will NEVER curl his toes to fit into a shoe two sizes too small while I live lavishly.

Because it is my job to use what I know, those voices, those stories, that pain, and the creative juices that flow through my veins like the blood that trickles from their lips to make something beautiful.

To keep a promise that his tomorrow will be the rainbow to all of my yesterdays.

Because the pain of my past is worth the glory of his future.

Because I will make this life count.

Because I will build the foundation of his greatness.

Because he will NEVER know those types of tears.

My hands slam against the keys with purpose.

With conviction.

Because my hands will do for him what no hands have ever done for me.

I write…

Because I have to.

2.45. 38 Days (Camp NaNoWriMo Journey)

2 and a half hours in and I am at a road block.

I came up with the idea for my current piece on August 29, 2011. 38 days after my father passed away.

Now, here I am, 21 days from the two year anniversary of my fathers death and I am incorporating the father figure into the project. There is a phone call. A voicemail. A dropping of a phone. Panic. Screaming and a collapse in a hallway. Crying. So much crying.

I chose to use my memories of those moments to describe the call the main character gets concerning her father…

And this where I am stuck. Because, although I’d like to think I’m healing, thinking about those moments makes me relive them. And it makes me want to cry. And I want to scream and claw at my assistant manager and beg her to bring my father back all over again. I want to ask a guy I would normally ignore (my old DM) to please tell me it was a lie.

I am there. Avoiding their eyes…those looks of pity. I am there. Calling home, desperately. Hearing my sisters voice break. Hearing her say those words. I am there. Calling my fathers cell in hopes he will answer one last time. That he will call me “babe.”

I am there. Unmounting my tv so I could pawn it to fly home. Feeling hopeless and stranded. I am there…flooded with support of distant friends who flocked to me to help me fly. Looking at my son and feeling like he lost out. He will never have a memory of my father. His grandfather. He will never call him by some cute nickname. He will never hear an I love you from him.

I am there. Drowning in wine because I wanted to be numb so fucking badly. And yet, the alcohol did nothing. I am there, getting a tattoo for my papa bear. Grasping at anything that would bring me back. Bring what we had back.

I am there…in that driveway. When the floodgates opened and I couldn’t walk into my sisters house. Sitting on the back patio. Making my way inside and down that hall. And getting stuck. Not able to face it. The empty room that smelled of my father. Locking myself in that room and breaking down completely like I never have before. Dying.

I am there. Every second replays and I am cold.

I am here. considering re-outlining this part of the story and omitting the father. The father I molded from my own. Because I wanted to immortalize him. Because I wanted people to love this character just half as much as I loved my father. So the world could know his spirit through these words.

I am stuck. Because I NEED to write this. Because I always said I wanted to be a writer but my father never got to see me start. Because I waited too long. Because I have to heal. As much as here is painful in these moments…there…there is something that kills me.

I need my father.

2.44. A Night With The Muse

Have to be up at 6am to get ready for work. Reading in bed (How To Talk To A Widower by Jonathan Tropper) and I decided sleep just wasn’t for me tonight. Coffee brewing…here goes…

12:27am – Started this post. Smoking a cigarette and listening to Placebo – Running Up That Hill (GREAT SONG!!!!)

1:04am – Have to butcher, massacre, annihilate, slaughter, vaporize 68 pages of raw material, paragraphs, dialogue, ideas I have stored for almost 3 years in order to be ready for Camp NaNoWriMo in 8 days. Replaying Placebos Running Up That Hill because the song fits the mood of the piece so well thus far. Even quoted a few of the lyrics. Don’t know how that works but I think if the character is relating to them in a tense moment…I should include them. Sometimes music is the strongest dialogue for a situation. It will just have to work for right now. Back to it.

1:43am – Listening to Toxic by Cheesa. Just deleted (still saved in another file in case I regret that choice) 1,111 words. Recorded 458 new words to be used.  Don’t know how I feel about the new piece but would rather record it now than wait til the 1st (some rules must be bent if I’m going to get this thing done). Not feeling awesome about where Earth came from but it will just have to work for the moment until I can think of something better. Refuse to get stuck on a tiny detail. Have a bad habit of doing that and not finishing pieces so I’m just going to continue and worry about that during editing. Hope that’s the right decision. Radioactive by Imagine Dragons

1:52am – Oh shit…I need more coffee!!! Open Heart Surgery (Epic Love Song!!!)

2:12am – Did I mention I work a 10 hour shift today…this may not have been a smart decision but it does feel great to be writing right now. Johnny Cash – God Is Gonna Cut You Down 

2:14am – Angel Massive Attack

2:27am – Listening to Antichrist Superstar – Marilyn Manson. STILL love this entire Album. Dried Up, Tied and Dead To The World So far I have gotten past 97% of my road blocks pertaining to this piece. I am pretty sickly excited about it. On my second huge cup of coffee and sipping water between. I should probably eat at some point but don’t feel like moving from the computer. I know that I should leave all of the new material for the 1st but the whole point of me participating in Camp this year is to make this novel happen. If I say, “nope gotta wait” I’m standing in my own way again and I really refuse to do that. So screw it, I’m going to write and keep pushing myself and if the muse comes to me every damn day before Camp starts and every day after…I’m gonna write. Guilt free.

2:32am – Word Count of Deleted Material – 2,297 Words. Word Count of Kept/New Material – 2,851

2:55am – Eating Corn Chips…feeling a little tired but still going. Work in 4 hours – CAN’T SLEEP NOW! Mind as well make the most of my time.

3:07am – I am not an accomplished writer. I work 40 hours a week at a job. It is not my passion. It pays my bills. A huge part of my soul fights the day to day grind I live. My soul refuses to believe I was born to do this. To have a job and go through each day just living to work. Working to live. No passion behind it all. And I ask myself…what is the difference between me and someone accomplished. The thriving artist and the artist who touches the dream? My opinion…the time we spend on the craft. If I can spend 40 hours a week doing something I don’t love to pay my bills…why am I not spending 40 hours a week doing something I DO LOVE to make my dreams come true?

3:40am – Just got complicated and I don’t know if I fixed the jumble/overlap/contradiction/too many damn characters involved/whatever the hell just happened for things to make sense. In my outline, I wanted two characters to be responsible for something but in my original notes, I wanted two others to be responsible so I had to adjust and…like I said…don’t know if I did it successfully or if I just made a confusing hot mess but it’s almost 4am and I don’t feel like making my brain hurt or to discourage myself so I’m just going to say tis good for now and keep going…think I need more coffee…damn I should probably have slept…did I mention I have to work a 10 hour shift today. This day may just suck hardcore.

4:47am – Wish I didn’t have to go to work today. Not because I’m tired. Because I’d love to spend the next 10 hours writing.

4:59am – 3,216 deleted thus far in edits. Damn that’s major.

5:02am – Just got a text from one of my favorite people. Slacking and talking on the phone.

5:36am – Still on the phone…looks like the writing is over for the night.

6:14am – Getting ready for work. What a great night.

2.36. Rain

She will skim the surface

With blades of grass

To deliver the aqueous formula

Slow like honey

Heavy in hue






Clotting into hail

Her wrists are open

As cumulus clouds deliver surrender

A torrent of life

Laid to rest on the tiles of a bathroom floor.

2.33. He Kissed Me

And I felt like putty

Like the sky at 7:53am on a Tuesday while Bob Marley played in someones car…”No woman no cry.”

Like an empty bottle of creamy baby oil left atop an unused counter…waiting

Like a cool bottle of wine, uncorked but owned

Like a valley unpaved by mankind.

He kissed me 

And I felt like an orgasmic tigress

An unleashed heathen

A closeted slut

A pornographic master

A willing submissive

An intrigued Dom

Waiting Prey

The hungry predator.

He kissed me 

And floodgates opened







Lips to lips


Lips to throat


Palms to palms pressed, fiercely, against cold brick

Lips to chest




He kissed me

With every intent of staying

And fleeing

Gasping for more

My oxygen in his lungs

My everything in his hands

My world in his words



He kissed me

And I was something else

Someone else

A vixen

A kitten

A little bit of both

A culmination of what shouldn’t be and what had to be

Lips to stomach

Staring at the back of eyelids

Familiarizing scents and tastes

Tongues sway



Lips to inner thigh

He kissed me 

And I watched him beg

To feel pretty lips

Below the hips

For one thrust

One drink




2.28 – Digital Dating Diary (Entry1)

Real messages from real people showing really sad attempts…

“Your son is very handsome , your not so bad yourself, im a single dad, business owner, and looking for someone to hang with in the little free time I have, so if your interested in rich Italian guys message me back”

“-May your wings lift you to the top of the world”

“Yet, a true happiness calls through the shadows of my loneliness stirring my heart to take again another chance risking pain once again….oh how I must find pleasure in the pain.”

“Priceless, you’re priceless!! No dollar amount can buy the joy & happiness you bring. You are the first lady worthy of a king, my queen. The moment I set eyes on you, I knew I would fall. You make it better! lets chat sweetheart, i would love to get to know U”

“Damn Lil momma any way u dig white boys”

“I wanna know you”

“Hello how are you doing and what movies do you like seeing and things like to do for fun maybe bowling; dancing; mini golf; playing pool; darts or anything fun like that just asking………………..”

“Hey I’m Brandon. I read your profile and you cought my eye. What is the first thing you look for in a guy? How’s was your weekend?”

“Hi i probably have no chance but i thought id balls up and message u and tell u wow”

“Wuz up. How u doin? Thought mayb we can chat n talk a lil get to know eachother hit me up.dnt b a stranger get at me”


I might be a bitch for how critical I am. But I’m not hoping for some random guy. I’m not hoping for some fair weather connection, intimate encounter, or sugar daddy. I want to fall head over heels in love. And so I wait…and laugh in the meantime.