Mining for Marcel Proust

I know it's only Wednesday but it's my Friday.  After work I'll enjoy a quiet dinner with some friends and then go home, mingle with my comforts and continue on with my current TV obsession, Downton Abbey.  Season 3 arrived in the mail yesterday.  I'm three episodes in already.  I try desperately to savour them but I simply cannot. I'm enthralled.  

I haven't been blogging much but I'm writing.  I am working on yet another short story called 'Yee Haw'.  On my first day off tomorrow I have planned an artist date for myself after running errands.  I'm going to park myself somewhere where there is coffee and scribble all over my sheets with a red pen.  I've also decided there needs to be a few more scenes so I'll have my thinking cap on besides.

Also, on a bright note, my dear friend and wordsmith Ru has joined me online!  She started a blog of her own and I can't WAIT to read every single word she writes.  She's magnificent and should be famous. 

A little poetry for a wet Wednesyday:

Mining for Marcel Proust

marcel proust

was a startling image

falling into an asthma attack

mining my languid prose for

great style & perception

valentin

louis

georges

eugene

marcel

proust

turned his back on my writing

deemed my carefully crafted pages

blatantly numbered pastiche

I discredited his false accusations

challenged him to a quick draw

gunfight outside of an ambient saloon

the medley of my poetic ingredients

coupled with the exactness of fame

warranted an integer of expressions

of defense & anthologized pardon

marcel proust

hurled a compendium of essays

after a licentious literary review

was published citing his work as

unconscious memories of the deaf

valentin

louis

georges

eugene

marcel

proust

invented everything

& revised nothing

all allegorical

& me

still 

excavating

for gold

**

All for now.  Almost quitting time.  Tea is almost gone.  Work is almost done.

In propinquity,
Nic

This is a pen ...

Staggered Crossing, remember them? They released a fantastic self-titled record back in 2001 that spawned their single 'Further Again'. Those thirteen songs are keeping me centered, keeping me company while I launch my shiny new blog. Thanks so much for coming to visit, by the way. So happy you are here. You are welcome anytime, participation is encouraged as well as over-staying your welcome.

My humble home on the world wide web, akin to (in my mind) a beautiful house with a wrap around porch and a cozy swing over-looking a deep blue lake has been under construction for years. I often thought about creating a little haven for my writing, thoughts, reviews, musings and opinions when the the premise of Facebook lured me away from the quiet musical abyss of Myspace. Her Excellency, Joni Thomas told me that would happen but I resisted her every quip. Alas, she was right. I abandoned my hours spent getting lost in music, discovering new bands and sharing my various writings and daily 'top ten song' lists. I left it behind for the younger, outgoing atmosphere of Facebook where there were so many people to share with that I became hesitant to share my writing for fear of looking like a snob. And anyway, I didn't really see Facebook as the arena to share poems I wrote with blood,sweat and tears. It is difficult for me to risk my heart, to share what is in it (even after 'Fight Club' writer extraordinaire told me, 'Never be afraid to look like an asshole'.)  It all pours out on virgin paper and was/is tucked away on my bookshelves between books written by my heroes. I started thinking, why waste my words? What did I have to lose? Absolutely nothing. In fact, after my mingling and being published by the fine folks of Open Heart Forgery, I find sharing to be incredibly liberating. I owe them, Donal Power and Rowena Hopkins especially, a huge debt of gratitude for welcoming my poems into their monthly publication and the anthology (which was such an extraordinary accomplishment for me) for encouraging me even though I was too shy and too nervous, to approach the podium and read aloud the words that had come from my guts. It was exhilarating and liberating. I was never more proud of myself and I look forward now to each and every time I am given the opportunity to share an evening with talented and warm humans for the readings. I stand straighter now, project and enunciate with conviction (or my version of it). In some small way, after so many punches life has thrown in the past few years, in some small way, I feel like I have arrived. Arrived to me, to my craft.

I wrestled with where to host my new writing life. I considered the old Bare Knuckle Writer neighborhood of Word Press, I mulled over blogspot and a few others. I settled on blogspot because it's conveniently connected to my 21stcentury Gmail account and my lovely ex-coworker also hosts her sexy blog here.. It was that easy, a no brain-er. Now you're stuck with me. I think it'll be a good coupling. I am pleased to be here.

While music may be my boyfriend, writing is my life. It may even be my purpose. I'd be hard pressed at this point in my years to say that it's anything else. Based on the judgments of others (and there are many) - not having accumulated impressive material possessions, not bringing children into the world, never been successful in love or even learned to drive a car (which is still on my list of things to do one day soon), writing seems to be my gift. I thrive while writing. I crave it. Closing myself up in my writing room, turning the stereo up, surrounded by mountains of books, writing paraphernalia and my rock walls, it is my refuge. It's my best revenge on the elements that threaten to beat me down. Despite what the naysayers might think, I do have a lovely life. I am blessed with a big crazy family, dear friends, my health and a roof over my head. I am wealthy in all of the ways that matter and it is reflected in my art. Writing is an appetite, it is a commitment and a way of life. I am so glad the writing life is mine. It is often solitary, often a challenge but I am also fortunate enough to have befriended so many creative and talented people that I'm never truly alone, even when it is just me, a broken pencil and an empty page.

This blog was designed for me to share with you, my work, my heart, ramblings about all sorts of things. I am blessed with the 'right to write' and grateful that your eyes have grazed this entry as I hope they will continue to.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS – And one more thing, should you see yourself in any of the work I post, consider it the highest form of flattery. If you've touched my life in any aspect, you're bound to be aggrandized, scrutinized and/or celebrated in words. If you don't want to be in my story … for some of you, it's far too late and for those who are about to inspire, thank you. In all honesty, if I have immortalized any part of you in verse or in prose, you were certainly worth every pen stroke, otherwise it would never have been written.