remnants

the ghosts are out in droves tonight

and you wonder why they keep to the shadows,

just out of your reach, beyond you

and your peripheral vision.

they do not wish for you to speak

them into being

or find them a home in your castle

of sand and glass and sadness.

they have enough of their own

to hold close to their breasts,

memories of what they used to be before you

and your expectations.

In the dictionary, "tree" comes before "turkey"

Uncanny Days: This Home is No Longer My Own

Oh Freud, you would have just loved it.

Rescue Me Willy Loman

I spent an uncomfortable hour and 45 minutes with a vacuum salesman today in my bedroom--

because that's where the carpet is.

And no, this isn't a setup for a porn.

I can't tell you what compelled me to open the door and let him (and his boss guy) into my home, except that I was swayed by the idea of a free carpet cleaning.  And I was promised that I wouldn't have to buy anything, and that all I'd have to do is sit back and watch the vacuum magic.

I thought, this really won't take very long and I'll get clean carpets and this guy seems very nice and they're new in town and just trying to get some publicity.

It all went downhill from there.

And hour later, this conversation occurred:

Him:  Okay, and this attachment is for cleaning dust mites out of mattresses.

Me:  Oh.  Okay.  That's handy.

Him:  (looking at me expectantly)

Me:  (getting it)  No.  You're not vacuuming my mattress.  

Him:  I think we should

Me:  (trying to think of any excuse)  It's brand new.  It doesn't need it.

Him:  I guarantee that there are still dust mites in there.  We better try it.

Me:  (weirded out) No.  We don't need to do the mattress.

Him:  No, but we better.

Me:  (starting to get upset) You're not vacuuming the mattress.

Him:  Well, the boss is going to want to see the dust mites that the machine got up.

Me:  We can lie.

Him:  You're going to make me lie, huh?

Me:  Uhh. Yep.

Him:  I don't like to lie.

And all the while I'm thinking holyfuckinggod I think I'm going to be offed by Willie Loman.  

Small Breakdowns

First, the neck:

a crack and a pop,

like a 14-row rotor shucking husks.

Then the drills, pins, plates

and he can no longer turn his head

to survey the crops.

Then the fall,

the stroke,

backwards, down his own concrete stairs--

stairs he built with bare hands and powder and water--

a bare bulb swinging above him.

And now: the shakes and shivers

that shimmy up and down his nerves

like livewires in rain.

He cannot trust his step,

cannot trust that his knees will hold him

with their shrapnel and scrapling shards

embedded in bone and muscle.

He cannot trust the sway

of his maple body,

of the breeze that might rustle him too far.

He cannot trust 

that there is a next step

beyond the last.

In the Know, In the Dark: The Starling Version

In the Know:  Leo's, for remodeling the god-awful someone-vomited-pepto-bismol-all-over-the-freaking-walls women's bathroom.

In the Dark:  Leo's, for installing a flat-screen TV in the newly-remodeled bathroom that shows all porn all the time.  Way to class up the joint, boys.

 

In the Know:  Cake Wrecks:  witty, sugar-high blog posting at its finest.

In the Dark:  the local high school dance team, whose routine would make the Pussy Cat Dolls envious.  Next time I'll remember to bring dollar bills.

In the Know:  Fannie May, for offering to forgive the loan of 90-year-old Addie Polk of Ohio, who shot herself twice in the chest when the authorities came to foreclose on the house.  

In the Dark:  Intellectual property plagiarists.  (you know who you are)

In the Know:  The jury who found O.J. Simpson guilty.  (Exactly 13 years after the acquitted murder charge.  Karma's a bitch, eh O.J.?)

blowfish this

restless cube dweller (the one we all know and love and miss) says that my blog is a neglected child, so i am feeding it.

(that is a terrible metaphor; i never should have started that.)

but RCD sustained a great loss this week, so I will write.  (long live bob?)

like Sean, i'm trying to be happy and shiny.  that said, i will not launch into the diatribe on Jessica Simpson 'making a stand for women's rights.'  (Jessica:  belting crapass country songs while wearing haute couture is not taking a stand for women's rights.  that's just being a lazy, self-absorbed poser.  you have limitless opportunities and funds at your disposal; you are one of the lucky ones.  if you really want to take a stand for women's rights, go to school and become an educated woman.  you have the means; do it for those who don't.)

oh, whoops.

it's just that she makes me want to set myself on fire.

shiny happy

happy shiny

okay, I'm back.

so the new project is underway.  Jen gave me some preliminary feedback which was really helpful.  I was never much for setting in my earlier writing years, but besides this project being close to my heart, I like the idea of casting the Hills in new light--of providing another layer to the battleground element--especially for adolescent readers.  the trick with the supernatural though is to "make it new," to find a new angle, a new avenue to pursue; this is proving difficult, but hopefully the new set of characters I've created have original fragments (at the very least).

random things have been appearing in my house.  completely strange odds and ends, in fact, and in places that the cats could not have possibly been.  I think maybe I have a visitor?

this measly meal will have to do for now.

oh except for this:  I have suffered grievous insults today for my Facebook confession.  I cannot--and will not--abandon my love for Hootie and the Blowfish, even if it means losing longtime friends.

love me or leave me, baby.

(that means YOU, banya)

cheers, my friends.

nobody's starling

Flashback

I skinned my knee on my walk today

and suddenly I was seven again.

I walked the rest of the way home

with shoes in hand, blood running down my leg

If it hadn't been for the people 

in the red truck who watched me fall,

it would almost be bittersweet.

girl not dead, just lazy

listening to:  missy higgins on a clear night

so, hi.  i'm not dead or anything, in case you were wondering--just lazy.

this summer has run amok with traveling, writer's block, and really, really great books.  

i taught a couple of writer's workshops on writing sudden fiction and writing supernatural stories; both were great fun.  i was working with adolescents, so i (of course) had to bring up Twilight and the fourth book in the series Breaking Dawn (released at midnight Aug. 2).  i think this series outdoes Harry Potter in terms of fanatic readers.

  

this is how the conversation went:

me:  so are we Twilight fans in this group?

them:  (girls screaming as if it were Beatles circa 1964)

me: wow.  we are enthusiastic. 

them:  (more screaming, punctuated by "OMG I LOVE edward cullen!!!!!")  (yes, that many exclamations points)

me:  okaaayy.  (but secretly understanding).  he is fictional, we know this right?

them:  I don't care. I love him. Do you think he would love me if we met?  I'm so jealous of Bella and she's so plain, I can't believe he loves her.  He's so hot, even if he is stone-like.  I could deal with the vampire thing, I mean, he doesn't do humans or anything like that.  I hate werewolves.  I hate Jacob; I wish he would die, or Edward would kill him in the fourth book.  I don't care if he and Bella are BFFs.  He's so stupid and he took up almost all of the third book. OMG!  Have you seen the preview for the movie? What did you think of the trailer?  Have you seen it?  I can't wait!  I love it.  I want to see it now.  I love the actor they chose for Edward, even though no one really measures up to him.  I don't want the series to end.  I want her to just keep writing for us.  What are we going to do when it's all over? What do you think is going to happen in the last book?  Do you think they're going to get married?  I hope so.  And I hope she becomes a Cullen and Edward makes her into a real vampire and they have little vampire babies.  (okay, I added that last part.  but still, this is pretty close)

me:  I kind of want her to end up with Jacob.  

them:  (shocked gasps/anger)

me:  What?  I'm a Hills girl; I'll always go for the wolf.

them:  but he's a dog!  How can you say that? Edward is...Edward.  He's so much better.  How can you go for Jacob?  I hope Jacob dies and it's painful.

me:  ....

me:  ....

me:  should we write now?

***

i read the first book of the series for an independent study with skip a few years ago.  i just happened to add it to the list because it looked cool and it was a vampire novel (me = vampire addict).  i was so enthralled that i refused to put the book down for two days.  (incidentally, this led to me falling down the stairs when i was trying to read and walk at the same time).  it's true, edward is quite charming.  i think i even told skip that i felt a little dirty for being half in love with an imaginary boy.  the other two books i saved as my new years eve novels the past two years.  

j. and i have talked repeatedly about these books--that we realize as we're reading that the books are horribly patriarchal and really kind of terrifying in their ideology, but they are so good that we ignore it all and continue reading.  i don't know what to do with that.  i'm sure if my mom read them she'd have this to say:

this is what we fought for in the 60's and 70's?  for women to revert to submissives and to remain good, clean, pure virgins for their men?  honestly, court.

(then i imagine her throwing the book into the fireplace and storming off into another room)

***

i had a breakthrough on the writer's block.  the problem wasn't me, it was my story.  it's dumb. and i discovered that like boys, comic books are stupid.  so i've started on a new project, which is really more of a combination of an old project and a new one with the protagonist from the failed comic book novel thrown in for good measure.  i like it--and it's set in the hills and is all sorts of supernatural.

***

i got home today from a quick trip home and a quick trip to pierre.  i had a really nice stay with my family and my mom and i had good talks over SoDak Martinis.  

when i got there, my family was (and still is) caring for a fledgling blue jay (Baby Blue)--hand-feeding him and teaching him how to fly.  they expect he'll be ready for the trees in a few days.

***

there's six-weeks' worth of stuff to say still, but edward cullen is calling...

cheers, my friends.

Darling, I just received your letters from the postman and realized
that I have not updated this since I fell in love.

You would not believe that I actually have a life.
Not just a second one.

I am caught inside with silk ropes, waiting for the onshore winds.
I am a delightful mistress to every Lost Boy that crosses my path.

My day is filled with fluorescent light
from the second star on the right, straight on to dawn.

I am smitten--
but who cares.

I won't promise anything to you except I will blog about it
when I find my way home.

Sincerest apologies.

I will write more to certain yous--
but it might not be you in particular who I write to.

(With help from The Lazy Bloggers Post Generator)

(Thank you AH!)

i've built this house of writer's blocks

i have writer's block something awful. it's been like this for a few days--so bad that i don't even want to get out of bed in the morning because i feel worthless. there's nothing worse than stalled writing.

but now, at 9:00 in the evening, after a whole day of writing not a damn thing, i'm seeking solace in a very large glass of wine and the following wisdom:

"The first draft of everything is shit." — Ernest Hemingway

thanks, mister. maybe tomorrow, eh?

***

a sign that summer is really, truly here? i woke up this morning with no freakin' idea what day of the week it was. oh, and it's, like, a bajillion degrees in my house and the mosquitos are out in hoards. so there's that, too.

***

sometimes she doesn't know if she can stay in a world such as this.

inventory

things that make me (stupidly) cry:
visa commercials
lifetime movies
when people on reality TV shows succeed

things that make me laugh:
my little brother
my parents
SNL
adam sandler movies

things that piss me off:
Bush
apathy
hard-to-open cat litter buckets
people who don't keep their word
mosquitos

things i miss:
Nana
home
Hobbes
you

over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house i go...

sky over the missouri is pink and blue, like the pictures i used to draw when i was small and obsessed with the new baby blue crayon--

utility room's cement floor is cool and gritty with spilled salt. a long work table stretches the length of the backwall, the same table where i taught "school" for the neighbor girls from up the street and the two paint-by-numbers cat figurines my grandfather bought me from KMart--

zesto's sherbet is as sweet and familiar as the air is heavy and feverish--

swallows dart in and out of the porch, nervous wings protecting the nest. every year my grandmother would take pictures of her birds and their nests packed into the corners of the porch ceiling, nestled above the florescent light in the garage, and, once, right above the front door. they are not any less beautiful now that she is gone, but i understand their plaintive calls better now--

"Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees" --Robert Browning

i'm writing from my post at the hills house.

Why I Love This Place:

*reason #457:  the angry squirrel's bombing missions

as i was sitting outside early this morning, he bombed my cereal bowl with tiny tree branches.  bastard.

*reason #892:  baby skunks with big, big tails

*reason #1287:  three full days of bare feet

i slept on the couch and woke up this morning around 4:30 to a blue dawn sky, ink black trees, and a big round moon.  the birds were already singing and the air was canyon-cool.  

how will i ever leave?

***

Epicenter magazine out of California has decided to publish "Dress Your Dog Like Karl Rove," one of my favorite short stories.  i've been shopping it around for a year and a half now; it's nice that it finally has a home.  

***

the VLP reading is in a few days.  exciting!  and oh so scary.  at some point i need to shake my stage fright, but until then, bourbon before readings helps immensely.  (ha!)

i'm working on a new project, too.  the adolescent novel has been shelved for now, as this new novel's protagonist seemed to be more insistent.  i *think* it's going well?  here's the gist:  a twenty-something girl (who has an advanced degree, but who can't find a job in her field, and who then is forced to work at Last Stop CD Shop) creates a comic book about her ex-boyfriends--and crises ensue.

***

on tuesday i'll make a quick overnight stop in Pierre to see my grandfather, and then i'll be east river again.  i am anxious to re-settle--and to catch up with certain someones.

hope you are all well.  safe travels all around.

cheers, my friends.

Inelegant Angels

Would you recognize my clumsy soul
now, five years from when you turned
and left me lonely as a child?

If you returned you would see
the couch is the same
but I am not.

I have seven cats now--
my hair is red again,
(I know you secretly loved it)--
and I am writing.

Would you know to ask me
about the starlings
about the fire
about the blizzard that left me without
heat for three days—

I thought of you when I made a snow angel in the yard.

Would you think to ask
these things—to care,
or would you take me as-is,
scratched and flawed.

Would you buy out the grocery stores’ coconut
to fill the yard,
to make your snow angel
right next to mine?

i cannot tell you the truth if i cannot see your hands

listening to: Pandora.com

i'm writing from my brand freakin' new computer; courtesy of my family for graduating with that degree i earned. here is a picture of her in all of her beauty:



this computer has extraordinary powers. if my house were on fire while i was sleeping, it would wake me up just like a trusty golden retriever. or, if the river flooded in apocalyptic weather, it could be used as a flotation device. indeed, it could absorb a nuclear bomb's fallout. it could put an end to world hunger if only we let it. it could even maybe build a bridge between English and Education departments. okay, it may not be that awesome. but still pretty awesome.

thank you, loving family.

no courtney for old men: an open letter

look, i'm all about having compelling conversations with men who are significantly older than me. absolutely.  but the minute it turns weird, we're done.  so here's my gauge; please print this out and keep it with you for future reference.

if you're old enough to have:

1.  played marbles on the schoolyard with my dad,

or

2.  watched enviously from your kindergarten classroom window while my dad and his buddies played marbles on the schoolyard, 

or

3.  could be a younger sibling of one of my dad's marble-playing buddies,

then no, i will not have a nightcap in your hotel room/stroll down dark Louisville streets/have dinner in the private restaurant on the 25th floor with you.  

and if you make me say no more than three times--

if you refuse to accept my polite excuses/explanations/refusals--

if you tell me that you feel like i get you in a way your wives never did--

(let's give a big WTF to that one.  don't ever say that again--to anyone.  crazy bastard.)

if you follow me back to my hotel room--

then i'm going to set one of us on fire just to end the weirdness...

and it's probably going to be you.

things i learned today

listening to: drunk people in the hall/ cars on the louisville freeway

things i learned today:

*book shopping is impossible with an Elvis soundtrack in the background.
*when a seller tells you he's "only a poor business man," you're getting swindled.
*there is a point in marathon grading where not even your body weight in sugar will keep you awake.
*public school teachers make hella-money, as long as they don't teach for SoDak.
*louisville weather is the equivalent of the fires of hell. so is kentucky bourbon.

***

tablemate:  how old are you?  

me:  27

tablemate: wow.  that's young.

me:  yeah, but i'm 807 in spirit.  so that kind of makes up for it. 

***

tablemate:  (pointing to tablemate 2)  so you guys went to the same school for your undergrad?

me:  yeah

tablemate:  what did you learn there?

(at the same time)

me:  how to be a good person

tablemate 2:  how to be a good lutheran

***

this grading gig is pretty sweet. don't get me wrong--it's difficult, frustrating work at times, and they days are very, very long-- but it's rewarding. i love reading those essays where for two pages the student has been taking in circles, scattering literary terms in here and there (often incorrectly), summarizing the plot of the text, but THEN hits something solid. it's the whole "how do i know what i think until i see what i say?" moment of the paper where something finally clicks and the student takes that wonderful, insightful statement and runs with it for the rest of the essay. those essays are even better than the ones that come in already bright and shiny.

***

i have a story to tell, but it's so juicy and crazy and appalling and awful, it cannot be published here. please contact me for details.


cheers, my friends,
nobody's starling

The Louisville Files: Part II

Louisville's music scene rocks my face off.  There are five live bands playing within three blocks of my hotel right now-AND a live jazz in the bar and acoustic set upstairs.

Day two of exam grading:  over.  We're missing 90 graders for ENGL, so they've added time on to our already long day--an extra hour today and tomorrow we start a half hour early.  But the people are awesome, the food is wonderful, and there are some truly surprising essays in the mix.  Things are good.

I sprained my ankle something vicious yesterday.  My roommate and I went on a search for Diet Pepsi--because I was going through mad withdrawals and there was no way I was going to get through four hours of grading without at least two.  Plus, two other team members desperately needed caffeine as well, so really, it was a rescue mission.

Anyway, I was directed to this frightening dock that was through a door and around a dark corner--it's the garbage room, really--and there was all this crap spilled all over the floor, but me, being a klutz and completely oblivious to anything but the picture of the three-foot diet pepsi picture on the front of the machine, didn't see the crap spilled all over the floor.  So there was a series of slipping, twisting, and cracking.  All the while six Galt House workers looked on:

Worker:  "Oh yeah.  Watch out for that."

The diet pepsi?  Totally worth it.

***

Earlier today:

Me:  "Wait, what did she just say?"

Colleague:  "She said we should take a few minutes and massage our team members' shoulders."

Me: "I'm from South Dakota; touching strangers weirds us out."