Sunday, September 29, 2013

Prehistoric Romance



Prehistoric Romance

it is time you were told
that I have divided our
prehistoric romance into
four different stanzas

one for the first glance
one for the last kiss
one for the first night
one for the last fight

I penned a cycle
of speculative poems
about your practiced flair
to invoke brief instants
of all-pervading joy

& fleeing

a prehistoric romance
a solemn literary relic

dedicated to you

**

Just typed this while moving through John Mayer's 'Battle Studies' record.  I killed it in 2009 when I bought it and for a time it held a special place in my heart and then for a really long while I couldn't stand a single song until I moved resolved some internal wars.  I have fallen in love with the record again.  I must be to have scribbled this down while listening.

Not much of an entry.  I attempted to sit down in the quiet of my writing room in my jams with tea to conjure an ending for 'Too Much To Contain'.  I am stuck and admittedly I am slightly frustrated.  Maybe my desire for the end to be clear is the problem.  So, I will stew.  I will wait.  In the meantime though I am afraid that I will get caught up in new ideas for a forthcoming story yet to be titled.  Too many stories, too little writing time.

For now, I will rest.  Think, dream, think, devise.  The work never ceases. It's good, challenging work. I am grateful for my gift.  

In propinquity,
Nic

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

On Writing 'Too Much To Contain'


One of the things I’ve learned through writing prose all these months is that it is true what they say, that writing is very likened to a muscle.  The more you exercise it, the stronger it becomes.  Meaning, the more you write, the better you become.  I don’t know if I’m better exactly but I’m firming up in my understanding of how to listen to my characters and to plot out their stories, arrange the words into something beautiful, cohesive and pleasing first for them, then myself and then friendly readers.  This current story is anything but beautiful, empty of pleasure and reaches a grim conclusion.  It’s new, difficult territory for me but it was the story I was told so it is the story I will share.

The psychology and tactics of ‘Too Much To Contain’ boil down to human atrocity.  By nature, I have a champion’s compassion for all things living, but this current antagonist threw me for a violent loop.  The basic aspects of creating good, strong characters is to make them feel like a real living breathing human being instead of a list of attributes etc.   In this case, I fleshed out a monster and allowed the decisions he made he his own instead of censoring it for a more feel-gooder.  The germ of the story came in a dream, the crux of the story, a flash of a chaos that scared me so badly I had no choice but to write it down. 

There is a silver lining, a blessing.  As I started to write, I discovered it was more my protagonist’s story than the evil culprit.  In saying that, I was somewhat relieved to know I didn’t have to dig as far into his twisted psyche as I originally dreaded.  Don’t get me wrong, I had to spell out the whole terrifying scene and it chilled me right to my bones but not having to write it from his perspective made it manageable.  I fear some might see it as a cop out but it’s essentially how the story was delivered to me, it’s my job to relay it.  I’m grateful, I ain’t gonna lie.

I’m almost finished the actually story.  I have a few scenes left to write and some housekeeping to do.  I’m writing everything entirely out of sequence so it’s again like assembling a jigsaw puzzle.  I initially challenged myself too to write song lyrics but I’m not sure that’ll happen or if they are needed, maybe.  I’m still looking for a fitting ending, one that won’t have people hurling stones at me for making them say, “That’s it!?’  It really isn’t that kind of story.  I hope to find a way to end a mournful story on a positive note.  That’s the optimist in me, you know?

David Bowie’s ‘Cat People’ has been on constant repeat while I’ve been writing this one.  Fever Ray’s ‘If I Had A Heart’ and Placebo’s cover of Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up That Hill’ have also been useful.  To get in the proper frame of mind to write violence, I queued up a big Marilyn Manson playlist peppered with a few other songs fellow writer and confidant Kiersten Bree Johnston has been using for inspiration in writing something especially dark.  These musical tools have been life-savers, pardon the pun, they have really helped me through the struggle of facing the big bad.  I just hope the finished product resonates.  It was an absolute exercise of will and courage, writing this story and for some you might read it ago think I’m a cry baby but believe you me, it took everything in me to compile.  I look forward to what my critics have to say.  Eeek!

Question, who turned off the summer heat?  I no likey.  Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

In propinquity,

Nic

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Prescriptions for Peril



Prescriptions for Peril

détente

an amiable ceasefire
concessions for armistice
sanctioned  harmony

ascribe

impute savant curators
wardens of irenic tenure
keepers of proper peace

revive

benevolent engagement
munificent assignation
an open-handed accord

annotate

furnish innocuous résumés
elucidate safe instructions
interpret applied grammar

authenticate

the only advantage of peril
is nonbelligerent tenacity

the grievous deteriorate
under affirmative insurance

humanity appropriates good

**

I wrote a big chunk of the bad ugly that happens in my current story today.  Then I wrote this, to counter the negative energy it socked me with.

In propinquity,
Nic

Monday, September 23, 2013

Words Fallsy Downsies in 1982

Word On The Street was FANTASTIC!  What a gorgeous day I had wandering around the Halifax waterfront, mingling with gentle souls, drinking coffee, fondling and buying books, enjoying everything literary.  I also took in two dazzling author readings by Halifax’s Stephanie Domet and the infallible Jian Ghomeshi .


Stephanie Domet engaged us with an animated reading from her impressive and forthcoming novel “Fallsy Downsies”.  I am currently reading her first novel entitled “Homing” and I am deeply in love with her writing style and her storytelling skills.  She has a fresh, vibrant voice and I admire her passion for her craft.  I’ve been reading her work for years, when she wrote for The Coast and am enjoying her creative writing.  It is evident from her characters, her story structure and themes that she pays careful attention and applies a great deal of love to the pressure of her pen.  She will be launching “Fallsy Downsies” on October 23rd at 6:30pm at The Carleton, I look forward to buying a copy and having the chance to say hello.


Stephanie also had the pleasure of introducing Jian Ghomeshi who was this year’s headliner in the CBC More Than Words tent, set to read from his chart topping, recently released in trade paperback, creative non-fiction effort called “1982”.  I finished reading it on Friday so I would be primed for this engagement and it made his reading that much more compelling.

“1982” is a heartfelt account of an Iranian-Canadian teen, obsessed with Bowie, in love with an older girl, a music obsessed New Waver coming of age in the 1980s.  The universal themes of the book are noted as the triumphs of outsiders and a love for music.  What kid didn’t feel like they totally didn’t fit in in high school?  What kid didn’t fall in love with someone they thought was cool and perhaps out of their league?   I identified with some of the emotions and insecurities he shared but most of all I shared his passion for music.  In the book he talks about how when he was a kid, to go and buy music was such a labor of love.  These days, when you like a song, you can click a button and it is yours.  In the 80s, it was literally a pilgrimage.  He describes the long journeys to acquire a record and that story choked me up because I saw myself in it, climbing on a bus in Eastern Passage to make my way to Barrington Street to Sam The Record Man.  Entering the store was just like heaven, multiple floors worth.  If you wanted music then, you had no choice but to travel for it.  And believe me; you had to love what you were in pursuit for to make that trip.  Just like Jian and his pal, I would buy my record, get back on the bus, devour the liner notes and memorize every last inch of the artwork before I even got back to my stereo to listen.  When he talked about this portion of the book yesterday, I filled up again, with nostalgia, with gratitude that I was fortunate enough to live at a time when music was exciting and sacred and sad for the kids that came up after me who will never understand the impending joy of such a jaunt.


Jian Ghomeshi is described as polite and inclusive as an interviewer but the same can be said for his presenting style.  He spoke to an ardent audience yesterday, enjoying a harmonious exchange inspiring a great deal of laughter, introspection and an all-around feel-good atmosphere.  Jian is dedicated to his work, a proud Canadian and a humanist through and through.  He is also six times more beautiful in person than he is on TV.  He lifted hearts yesterday, tickled funny bones and made everyone’s day he came in contact with.  Not a bad day’s work, eh?  I absentmindedly left my copy of the book on my nightstand so I had him sign the back cover of my writing book instead, the book I bought for myself at the Leonard Cohen show.  I apologized for forgetting but thought since it was the year of encountering all of my favorite Canadians, it seemed fitting to have him sign something Cohen.  I also expressed to him the same as I did here, about how that passage of his book moved me to tears thinking about my former self.  It seemed to touch him but I am sure he hears that often and it must feel good to know he has put something into the world that isn’t only universal but emotionally monumental to like-minded people like me.

(You can see the top of my head!)

It was a perfect day.  I hated for it to end but the feeling of contentment and peace lingers. 

On the writing front, I’m knee deep into ‘Too Much To Contain’.  I took myself out for a bit of an artist date on Saturday and worked out some details and wrote them out later that night in my writing room complete with the music that I need to fuel the difficult range of emotions required.  That is still proving to be a challenge for me.  My heart tends to be too big and soft to conjure acts of violence on the page.  I am trying.
                             
I am back to the grind today, working for the man.  The weekend already feels like it is a million miles away but my heart is still full.  I love that feeling.

In propinquity,
Nic



Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Minority Myself


Minority Myself

a minority myself

I encountered
a poet
who mattered

with a body of
uncompromised
writing

images juxtaposed
lovely and risky
free of literary despair

a minority myself

I long to make

comparable
statements

be shackled by the
sheen of relevance

write words
                plentiful
                inimical
                astute
                sparse
                affecting
                earnest
to devastate
to altercate
to overwhelm
to equivocate
to enunciate
to augment

a minority myself

I swing for the fences
scrawling
what happens

with a temperate pen
with an authorial ego
with an anorexic heart

for me first
then for you

convinced I belong with
my contemporaries
and in your conscious

**

Day two where I should be fully focused on writing but I picked up a bit of a bug or something and ended up in bed at 8:30pm last night.  I have Zumba class tonight so I am making every effort to settle my stomach and drum up some energy.  I don't like to miss it, the session only started last week and I paid for it.  I am hoping after my soup and some something from a kettle I'll feel more like myself.  The goal is to make it through the work day and Zumba.  Fingers crossed.

Along with my story scribbles and looking forward to Word On the Street this coming weekend, I penned the above poem.  A wee Tuesday offering.  Is it Friday yet?

In propinquity,
Nic

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Hear My Heart Trumpet


Hear My Heart Trumpet

overlook pages of dis-assembled scribbles
erase literal interpretations of daily deeds

hear my heart trumpet

announcing a sequence of graceful commands
advising a pocketful of stunning photos to dance

hear my heat trumpet

for tiny miracles independent of my original story
for immaculate heavy-lidded choreographies splaying

hear my heart trumpet hear its discourse hear its song

hear my heart trumpet a steady poetic meter

a salute

prepared to pursue the path of reasonable compromise
with someone who is much less suitable to the cause

my heart trumpets

for change
for sameness
for shelter
for dancing
for dreaming

hear my heart trumpet

**


Joyful moments (since Thursday) in point form:

-       my book buying adventure on Thursday (I bought ‘1982’ by Jian Ghomesi, ‘Homing’ by Stephanie Domet and ‘Mr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore’)
-       yummy dinner and edits at The Carleton and encountering my Grade 5 teacher, Mrs. MacKenzie
-       arriving home to a package waiting for me from my dear friend Elspeth and inside was her novel ‘Sole’ (on sale now at Amazon.com)
-       making a tattoo appointment to finally fix and complete the only ink I will ever have
-       curling up in a rain storm with blankets and pillows with movies and tea after a long Friday
-       seeing my dear friend try on her wedding dress for the first time
-       spending the whole day browsing for bridesmaid dresses with her
-       hanging out with my mom and talking to her
-       watching Eat Pray Love
-       sleeping in
-       enjoying a coffee and the sunshine with my best friend on the Halifax Commons
-       visiting my dear friend Sharon on her birthday
-       writing the enclosed poem while listening to the new Civil Wars record
-       new sheets fresh out of the dryer to rest in on a Sunday before a Monday
-       daydreaming
-       praying
-       counting blessings
-       text messages that make me laugh outloud

Happy Sunday.  Back to work tomorrow, one long week before Word On The Street.  And, I hope to have a good deal more written on ‘Too Much To Contain’ before then.  Fingers crossed.

In propinquity,
Nic



Thursday, September 12, 2013

Wild Boys



Turns out my pro/antagonist started out as a bit of a tart.  Getting to know this egregious rock star turned insular singer/songwriter is proving to be a bumpy ride.  It’s coming in flashes and so it causes me to write horribly out of sequence which I am now used to but piecing it all together is like solving a Rubik Cube in the dark.  What’s more is the horrifying twist this story takes.  It’s unsettling to be privy to such calculation and abrasion and know that it’ll be me to commit it to paper.  My instinct is to procrastinate, to write the easy stuff first but I think perhaps if I get the end out, the rest will slide easily into place.

I have the urge to listen to Bowie while I write this one so I will be doing so this evening after my bookstore adventure right after work.  My star’s music isn’t akin to Bowie’s sound but his antics are narrowly inspired by Ziggy Stardust, or so he has shown me. 

Wild boys always shine.

In propinquity,

Nic