Mind's eye

Thanksgiving week at assisted living

I go into my mind’s eye

when I can’t see people.

I try to remember what they look like.

Do you do that, too?

NaNo - Author's Note

Not sure where in the book this will be, but it came out of my head tonight.

Author’s Note

Feeling morbid.

Feeling alive.

Feeling out of control.

I feel like my brain has been on speed

Thoughts trigger thoughts

Which trigger more thoughts.

They come in a rush.

Too fast to get them all down.

My fingers can’t keep up with my head.

Thoughts keep me from going to bed,

Wake me during the night,

Follow me during the day.

Thoughts exploding in my head

On the pad of paper next to my bed

On my phone

On my laptop.

So many thoughts

It is almost overwhelming.

I’m getting lost

And yet I feel found.

Thoughts exploding

Surround me

Like a wildfire.

Which at some point will burn to an end.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

That saved an unhappy person like me.

I once was lost, and now I’m found.

Was blind and now I see.

I almost said fool instead of wretch.

But then I looked up wretch and saw that it

Accurately describes me.

Not always, but sometimes.

“an unfortunate or unhappy person”

I don’t like the other definition,

Which is why I refuse to sing that word,

“a despicable or contemptible person”

Why would anyone call himself that?

I may be a foold sometimes.

I may be unhappy,

I may be writing stories about dead people,

And that may make me unfortunate

But it does not make be despicable.

I would rather that no one feels contempt towards me,

Although I am sure that some kids do.

I’m a little different.

And I know that sets me up.

It’s easier to bully someone who scares you

Than someone you truly understand.

There’s a saying my dad uses,

“Ignorance breeds contempt.”

So, yes, maybe kids think of me as wretched,

But I don’t give a fuck.

I am who I am.

And if someone thinks that makes me descpicable or contemtable,

That is their issue,

Not mine.

As the other saying goes,

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,

But names will never hurt me.”

Which isn’t entirely true.

The names hurt,

But knowing that it isn’t my fault

That they choose to call me names

Or treat me like crap,

Knowing it is their action, not mine,

That helps with the hurt and

Lessens the pain.

Not pain-free,

Not wretched.

But Amazing grace os a sweet sound.

And I was once blind to how life works

But now I see.

I am in control of my destiny.

I’m the one creating a book of characters

No one has ever met.

That is power.

That is satisfying.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved;

How precious did that grace appear,

The hour I first believed.

Ah, grace.

What do I believe in?

I’m still figuring it out.

But I do know

That I believe in something

And there’s a good chance that

I’ll never totally figure it out.

Such is the spirit that lives within me.

I believe in my soul.

I believe in me.

Whether anyone else does or not.

NaNo - husband and wife

Wife, Mother

I only had one son

Richard.

He’s married now.

Lives in a brick and wood house

In a quiet neighborhood

On a dead end street.

Some days I just can’t understand

How i raised a boy

Who now gives his lawn a crewcut

Every week,

And finishes it off with meticulously trimming the edges

With his gasoline powered heavy duty trimmer.

Every week.

How did this happen?
So obsessive,

So exact,

So unyielding.

So unmindful of the impact his actions have

On the environment.

So close minded and religiously patriotic,

Which I didn’t understand

And now I will never understand.

Is his mindset a reaction to the freedom he had

As a child?
He was my only but I tried not to hover.

I tried not to be the mother who said,

Wait until your father comes home.

I tried to be the mother who listened,

Without criticising,

The mother who also had a life,

And didn’t want to give up on enjoying life.

I tried not to interfere when

He went through his phases,

Long hair, short hair,

Talking back, not talking at all

Smoking, drinking,

Girls.

Did I give him so much freedom

That now he needs order?

Or is he trying to show his father

How to be a man.

George, Husband, Father

She never did figure out what a mother is supposed to do.

Sure she gave birth

To a son,

Who would carry on the family name.

But she never understood how to discipline,

All she wanted to do was love.

Luckily, he saw right through her

As I did

And grew to be the man he was meant to be.

I guess he admired me

More than I realized.

Because he became more than my son,

He became my clone.

Funny, how that worked out.

I was always worried that

Her love would raise our boy to be a pansy.

For a while I thought he might wind up gay.

All that worrying for nothing.

He grew up to be strong, like me.

Uncompromising,

Unwavering,

A man.

Who knows how to get his way

And how to put up with women

In a way that they think

Means we care.

We don’t.

I think I loved her when we married.

But over the years love wasn’t the point of it.

I had a job to work

Money to earn

Son to keep in line.

I let her do what she wanted

And made sure that at the end of the day

I was the one in charge

And my boy knew it.

She didn’t fool him

Or me.

I raised a son into a man.

By being the strength she never could be.

Love?
Yes, in a way.

I guess it depends upon how you use it.

NaNo - Chap One - Anywheresville

Chapter 1: Anywheresville
Anywhere you want it to be.

This town once had dirt roads,

And wooden clapboard houses

With big front porches,

There used to be a parade

down Main Street

on Memorial Day

Soldiers, old and young, would march

The high school band played,

Children waved flags,

Cheerleaders waved their poms and cheered,

The mayor strutted,

The fire truck sputtered

And it seemed like everyone in town

Was either in the parade

Or on the sidewalk watching.

Everyone except the few

Who couldn’t walk

And didn’t have anyone to push them.

And, of course,

The hospital patients couldn’t go.

And no one thought to bring the crazies from

the asylum on the edge of town.

Anywheresville grew,

Which most residents thought was good.

Stoplights were added

Office buildings seemed to get built overnight,

The state thought it would be a good location for a community college

So they built one,

Professors came,

Students came.

Fast food restaurants opened.

A developer bought up some farms

and built a mall.

The community college built dorms

and added some four year degrees,

More professors came,

They had PhDs,

and were tenured instead of adjunct.

Growth is good, the mayor said.

Growth is good, the business owners said.

Growth is good became the mantra.

Growing, growing, growing.

The state assemblyman started to visit more often.

He talked about growth, too.

And change.

And progress.

And how he would get the state to help.

Which was why we needed to vote for him.

Aren’t parades great!

NaNoWriMo - Prologue

National Novel Writing Month is November 1-30. I decided to try it again this year and started my usual YA coming of age story written in verse. I didn't have an outline or clear plot and after a few chapters I decided to switch gears. Since I write in verse and have trouble developing plot lines, characters, and dialogue, it might make more sense to write something in the style of Spoon River Anthology. And since it is verse, why not post it on my poetry blog. So, here we go. 

Prologue or Introduction - I’m not sure what the difference is:

The library had a banned book display

Complete with police tape.

One of the books looked familiar

So I picked it up and flipped it open.

Spoon River Anthology.

It was poetry,

Instead of being about feelings,

The poems were all about people.

Huh.

So I read the back

And thought, whoa, this is stories about dead people,

Based on some dude walking around the graveyard

Which is kind of creepy.

But instead of writing something boring,

He wrote it like poetry,

Like a song.

Like a bunch of songs and poems

About dead people.

And I liked it.

My mom noticed me reading it.

She went to her bookshelf,

And pulled out her old copy.

I knew it looked familiar!

Sometimes my mom surprises me.

I didn’t think this would have been here style.

She said it was one of her favorite books in high school

And she still opens it up sometimes

And reads a story or two.

I don’t know if I should think that’s cool

Or if I should be worried.

I’ll go with cool.

Probably everyone reads books about dead people.

My mom

Reads the one that’s poetry

That sings

To her and me.

So, here’s my idea.

Because I like to write so much,

My teacher challenged me to write a book.

Fiction.

A novel, he said.

So I started one,

But it wasn’t going anywhere.

I couldn’t figure out what I wanted the plot to be.

I had one main character but couldn’t figure out

The other characters.

That’s what I mean about it not going anywhere.

It was just this girl

Talking in a journal,

About her life,

One day at a time.

Sounds familiar, huh.

Sounds like me,

‘Cause that’s what I do.

Which is why my LA teacher thought I should try writing a novel.

He knows I write.

Every day.

He hasn’t seen anything from my journal

Because I would never share that with anyone!

But I’ve brought in poems

And songs

And shown them to him.

He thinks most of them are pretty good,

And not just for a high school kid.

He thinks a few of them are good,

Period.

And that is really cool.

So, when he suggested I try to write a novel,

I said “Sure, why not.”

And here I am with a novel

That is done after five chapters.

Five short chapters.

It’s not done because I actually wrote a story.

It’s done because I am done with it.

And no one is ever going to see it

Because it is crap.

It’s like my journal,

But instead of being real,

It’s fiction mixed with real thoughts.

Sort of based on me

And my family

And friends

And classmates

And teachers

And pretty much everyone I know

Especially people who annoy me.

Not exactly interesting reading for most people.

And, as I said, no plot.

There is no story.

It’s just words.

Rambling.

More blah, blah, blah

In a blah, blah, blah world.

No one needs more of that.

So I hereby declare it officially done.

Finished.

And if I had printed it

I would now dump it in the recycle bin.

Instead, I will let it live in a folder on my laptop,

And start over.

From the beginning.

New idea.

I’m not touching the old one.

It wasn’t working.

I’m starting a whole new thing.

And it will be my version of Spoon River.

Instead of using gravestones

I’ll take names, gravestone sayings, news stories

Facebook posts,

Whatever, wherever,

And make up people’s names and lives.

This is going to be interesting,

A combination of morbid curiosity

Fiction and my usual thought process.

That means a bit wacky,

And a little bit all over the place.

I’m not good with straight lines.

And researching for this should be way fun.

Pinterest may become my new best friend.

I’m not sure it matters who I start with

And at some point I’ll even come up with

The name of the town and maybe even a county and state.

For now it will be named Anywheresville.

I kind of like that.

Maybe I’ll keep it.

Welcome to Anywheresville.

If you choose to read this book

You will get to know a variety of people

From around the world

Who chose to visit or drive right through

Or live

In Anywheresville.

If you choose to read this book,

You will read verse instead of prose,

Because that is what I write.

That is my preferred means of communication.

That is how I process my life.

And here we go.

Now entering Anywheresville,

It could be anywhere.

It could be everywhere.

This could be you.