Archive for January, 2010


On writing

I had very good intentions for this little corner of the interwebs.  I still do.

I wanted to write more fiction, more creative pieces.  There is something cathartic about personal confession, but I had grown weary of cutting myself open and bleeding on the page.  After giving myself a transfusion, I built a new home, and opened the doors to everyone.   It was a liberating experience.

It was easier to write when my life was in tatters.  The one thing upon which I could always count, in a world where nothing made sense, was my ability to build something out of the fragments of thoughts clouding my brain and the emotions pounding to crescendo in my chest.  Build a blood-red boat, set it on the waters and let it drift away.

Then one day, a message came back.

“I hear you,” it said.  One voice, to start.  Then, more.   Thank you for giving me what I needed, when I needed it.

A lifetime ago, I wrote that a Writer is someone who lives to write.  Someone who wakes up every morning, as I did, burning with words, desperate to get them out of my fevered brain before they dissipated in a wisp of smoke.   Set them down before the fickle Muse leaves, pouting from lack of attention.

Lives that are in tatters tend to be chaotic.  They have no rhythm, no goal, no sense of purpose.  There is time to dwell on thoughts, especially dark ones.  There is time to write these thoughts down, during the hours that are so late that they can also be thought of as early.

Eventually, the jumble of thread starts to untangle.  One painful piece at a time, the tapestry of life is re-woven.  Connections are re-established, homes are re-built.  The big picture, long forgotten in the endless dwelling upon details, becomes clear.  Suddenly, the full life is worth living.

The passion and energy spent on the words, always the words, is suddenly spent on the living.   The passion is there, but it is spent on other things.

Does it mean that I’m not a Writer? 

Or, worse.

Perhaps it means that I’m only capable of writing when my life is a mess.

I desperately want to burn again with the words, to feel that overwhelming rush of thought that must be expressed.  There must be a balance between these two things. a safe harbour in which I can find my bearings and finally use this space in the way I originally intended.


Reality Monday

[Dramatic music plays.  The tribe members file into the Council area, looking dirty, malnourished and flea-bitten.  Our fearless author, A, is wearing the immunity necklace.]

If you think I'm a bitch in real life, you should see the way they edited me on the show. Source:

PROBST:  Welcome to Tribal Council, Survivors.  [Insert profound comment about fire representing life, etc. etc.]  Since this season is all about A, she gets to wear the immunity necklace to every Council, and unilaterally decide which one of you is having your torch snuffed.   And no, that’s not a euphemism, so don’t get all excited. 

Let’s start with you, A.  Can you please explain to me why you let this band of jokers onto your island in the first place?  Are you some kind of sucker for punishment?

A:  Well, Jeff, I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly stupid woman…

[snickers and eye-rolling  from the rest of the tribe]

PROBST: It doesn’t look like they agree with you.

A:  [agitated]  Alright, alright, so I’ve made some bad choices.  Who hasn’t made bad choices?

PROBST:  Soul Patch, would you agree with that?  Did A make a bad choice by keeping you on the tribe?

SOUL PATCH:  Huh? [startled out of a daze]  Who me? 

PROBST:  Have you been smoking the jungle plants again?

SOUL PATCH:  Hey, I’ve only been arrested once.  Twice.  No wait, once.  What year was that?

PROBST:  Just answer the question.

SOUL PATCH:  A is definitely not making a mistake by keeping me here.  She needs my supersperm to re-populate this island.  Besides, I don’t have a job to go back to if she decides to kick me out.

PROBST:  Brilliant answer.  What about you, Playboy?  Why should you get to stay?

PLAYBOY:  Because I’m a well-endowed smooth talker.  And I like to wear a tie.  Isn’t that enough?

PROBST:  That may be the most… narcissistic…answer I’ve ever heard.  Don’t you bring anything else to the table?

PLAYBOY:  I’m good at making up stories that aren’t true.  Especially about my sexual exploits.

PROBST:  Charming.  And how about you, Cheater?  Is there any reason why A shouldn’t just feed you to the sharks?

CHEATER:  I swear, this is the only time I ever cheated on my wife.  Well, except for that other time.  And that incident last summer.  But other than those…three..well…four times…I’ve been completely faithful.

PROBST:  Ouch.  You’re so sleazy, I’m not sure a shark would actually eat you.  But, I think we’ve heard enough. 

A, can you give us any good, sensible reason why these creeps are still hanging around?  Isn’t it obvious that they should have gone a long time ago?

A:  Well, Jeff, I guess I figured that if I kept them around, they might eventually show some redeeming qualities.

PROBST:  Oh come on, really?  Didn’t your friends warn you?

A:  They tried, but… I voted them out so that I wouldn’t have to listen anymore.

PROBST:  Smooth move, Little Miss Smartypants.  Love is blind and dumb.

A:  Watch it, Probst.  This is still MY show.

PROBST:  Good point.  Time for you to cast your vote.

[A walks around the fire to the voting area.  The music plays.  She writes and deposits the slip of paper.]

PROBST:  I’ll tally the…uhhh…vote.  The tribe member who is voted out must leave the Tribal Council area immediately.

[Probst opens the container, unfolds the paper and starts to laugh.]

PROBST:  A has decided to vote herself off of the island.

A:  Can you blame me?  What are you doing tonight, Probst? [wink]  Wanna grab a burger?

[Cue closing music and credits.]

Nobody snuffs a torch like Peachy. Isn't he dreamy? Source: