Oh, It Was Absurd

I came across this photo of Bette and Joan today. And, after reading a few creativity-related articles online, this cheeky, if not slightly bellicose poem materialized. It felt good to put something with a little more edge on paper after completing a rather sad short story yesterday. I've written two stories now in the past few weeks. I still haven't started the monster edits on 'Sillyheart' yet but they are coming. So are the stories. If they are coming, I'm going to write them. There's no rush, right?

So, the poem:

Oh, It Was Absurd

Oh, it was absurd that time when I slid across

the polished floor boards of my old house in my

sock feet and slapped her across the face with an

old back issue of the Vasser Quarterly. Thwack!

I’m ashamed to say I tried to apologize with a

note composed in my childish handwriting but

it was not received as warmly as it was written.

Oh, it was absurd the way she tried to discredit

me in front of all of our friends accusing me of

being the cause of propaganda poems, posturing.

She got two thirds of the way through her cruel

and disparaging diatribe while on speaker phone.

I don’t know what it was the tone of her snooty

voice or the cock of her big bonce whatever it

was made the last straw in me snap and so I swiftly

swatted her in the most knee-jerk inimical manner.

Her haughty jowls stretched into a shocked mask –

oh, it was absurd. I’d take it all back in a heartbeat

but the expression on her face was priceless.

***

Ready for a little sunshine on my face. I welcome today's commute home just for that.

In propinquity,

Nic 

Back Then

Back Then

that

night

the exact

            night

I knew

I idolized

you

I wore  

my hair swept

over one

wide eye

            &

shagged around a 

jilted dance-floor

‘Slippery People’

            boomed

remember how

much we loved

Talking Heads?

we made

a lot of

flippy

            floppy

back then

just two

New Romantics

            bopping

***

I was listening to Talking Heads and came across the accompanying photo online. Song and image inspired the verse. Pretty cut and dry. I had fun with the whole combination -- listening, looking, and writing.

In propinquity,

Nic

           

Broken Hero With a Poet's Name

Sunday. November 2^nd, 2014.  The first day of the time change.  Gaining an hour of sleep they say.  For me, it’s one less hour of sunlight that I require.  I am now facing those several months where I will be getting up in the dark and going home in it too.  While I do enjoy the nighttime, sunlight as I get older tends to hold more promise and it alleviates the seasonal blues.  Must buy some vitamin D.  It doesn’t help that it’s cold as a witch’s teet today and has been pouring rain all weekend.  Such is Fall, just like cool cousin Spring.  I have had enough of sitting around, I am going to get out today and stretch my legs and browse around, hopefully get a visit in with my Dad if he’s up for it and then prepare my noodle for the return to the 9 to 5.  I daydream about a retreat every Sunday, a quiet place to think and write and wonder.  I think I’m just longing for a vacation.  A real one.  Not one where I just don’t go to work, but one where I am away from my daily life, somewhere other than here.  I’m still hoping for a trip down South in the Spring before my bud moves to Newfoundland.  We planned for it last April for our 40^th birthdays but circumstances prevented me from being able to have the time off.  It HAS to happen this April.  I long for a real grown up vacation.  I work my tail off.  I deserve it.  Most importantly, I need it.

I did get up this morning when it was still dark.  I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t get my noodle to settle long enough to rest.  I read Ru’s blog last night and a line in the preface to the new piece she posted stuck with me, ‘a broken hero with a poet’s name’.  I haven’t written a thing in weeks.  And since this line stuck with me, I thought I’d try to use it as a beginning of a poem, inspired by her creative wisdom.  I hope she doesn’t mind.

This is what I wrote.  Unedited and raw, in Sylvia Plath’s ‘blue hour’ and in the pouring rain:

Broken Hero With a Poet’s Name

I encountered a broken hero with a poet’s name

the weight of his dark eyes evoked an eccentric peace

I put him in a clamorous setting on a critical piece of paper

the noises, crashing cymbals, tambourines, vociferous voices

I wish it had been more of an airy dream under weeping trees

our happenstance was a mere trace of the truest North

a romantic’s naiveté where the moon is always just the moon

the broken hero with the poet’s name propositioned my fate

gone longer than he was present but not without a quiet farewell

I encountered him in the place where I was supposed to be

the stark adequacy of his small oblivion touched me for hours

the broken hero with the poet’s name

entered my emptiest spaces without a word

and re-wrote the laws of chaos into exquisite verses

I sing them now against the wind and into the sun

**

A little writing exercise to flex my muscles just a little bit.  I abandoned all of my stories and characters that were present and I feel really bad about that.  I do try to work but lately I haven’t had the heart for it but I feel like I should be a responsible writer and force myself to do it.  How can I even call myself a writer if I don’t do it each day?  I am desperate to be back in that place where I was prolific and productive, churning out stories faster than I could ever believe.  That was an amazing feeling, a happy time in my creativity.  I hope to have that back.  No, not hope, I WILL.  Right?

Oh, and Halloween was a gas.  We went as happy Mexicans.  I was stunned at how unlike myself I looked.  I was stunned by how much I looked like my oldest brother.  The comments and laughs our costumes got were fun and eased my worried self for a few hours.  Grateful for that and for my friends.

In propinquity,

Nic

Inspiration Strikes

I have officially started writing ‘Too Much To Contain’ – the story that I’ve been thinking about a lot but was too afraid to write due to its dark, violent nature.  Today, I posed the question to my Facebook friends :  Why do good people do bad things?  The discussion culled up a great deal of excellent fodder for my fiction writing but one friend of mine posed something that just blew the whole story wide open for me and I’m actually really excited about how the idea has re-shaped.   And, if you’ve guessed, this story will be music related.  I’m still a wee bit frightened but now that I am starting to understand the motivations, it seems less daunting. 

When I am home this evening, I plan to compile a playlist appropriate for the subject matter and get out my brainstorming board and go nuts.  Who wishes she had vacation days now so she could write for hours on end?!  Sheesh.  Inspiration comes when it comes!

Happy Monday!

In propinquity,

Nic

Learning To Lose Control

Matt Epp at The Carleton, June 23rd, 2013

I feel as though every time I write about Matt Epp I sound like a big ol’ sappy broken record.  But, my vastly talented friend from Winnipeg deserves the accolades, the praise; he deserves world domination.  There simply is no one else like him, Matt Epp is an exceptionally rare artist who fortifies his audience and writes songs that reach into the core of your humanness and culls the best of you out and upward.

This was a unique visit to Halifax for Matt.  He’s fond of Halifax and said he’s never come for a show without at least spending a week.  This time, his band van pulled up in front of The Carleton at the same time we did to secure good seats for the show, sip on sangria and enjoy each other’s company.  Watching bands load in, I always feel bad, like I should be grabbing a bag of cords or a guitar case to heave in.  It comes from carrying gear for my brother throughout the years.  My friends and I sat and nibbled on our fine food and drink while the band busied themselves with turning the tiny Carleton stage into ‘Amoria’ complete with Turkey’s flag, a sign of love for Matt’s wife who hails from that country and as a sign of solidarity for their people who are facing trying times. 

I had a few minutes before leaving for the show to listen to a few songs by French Press, Matt’s opening act.  I was impressed with her songwriting style and the unique loveliness of her voice.  Her live performance did not disappoint.  She performed for us a set of songs she sang beautifully with an acoustic guitar and won the room over with her delicate presence and her talents.  Our table was in unison, unanimous in that we predict big and wonderful things will happen for Chantal Emond.  She is graceful and lovely and added those exact qualities to an already exceptional group of traveling musicians.

It was wonderful to be present for Matt’s Halifax return because he brought with him his brand new record ‘Learning To Lose Control’.  This tour was in support and celebration of a record that hundreds of people made possible.  To make this record, Matt enlisted the help of his fans, family and friends.  Using online fundraising to reach a specific goal in order to pay for the recording etc.  With each donation he created this fantastic youtube ‘thank you’ videos to each and every person who put money in the pot to pre-order the record.  I was so pleased to see him reach his goal that allowed him to release such a tremendous record.  It’s beautiful.  The songs, the artwork, the packaging.  Simply gorgeous, an important extension to his already inspiring and indelible body of work.

The last time he played at The Carleton it was just he and his guitar.  This time around, he brought his band, The Amorian Assembly’ with him.  In addition to his most excellent bassist Joel Couture, he had The Wooden Sky’s drummer and a guitar player called Mike Tuyp (tagged as ‘The Best Tuyp’) with him.  Delightfully, Chantal Emond joined them all for the duration of the show, her voiced added such a beautiful texture to the new songs and the ones I love from his past efforts.  It was a full, vibrant sound with Matt’s soulful voice at the helm.  Together, they played several songs off of ‘Learning To Lose Control’ and a handful of his best songs and there are many.  I was particularly pleased that he played ‘Too Cool’ from his ‘Safe or Free’ record.  It was one of the first songs that really drew me into his music so it has a special place for me.  During the song last night I was busy jamming in my seat, singing along as happy as could be, so much so Matt acknowledged my singing from the stage.  It’s just one of those songs you can just groove to, feel the salt of the earth absorb into your soul, it just takes you like a wave and you’re surfing on its crest in complete peace.  And really, that’s what I derive from all of Matt’s music, peace.  Inner peace.  It makes every fiber of my being feel content and blessed to be alive.  That’s the power of good music, the architecture of a passionate artist.  Matt is indeed one of those.

He took a moment in the night to speak about Jay Smith, the grave loss we all feel, he shared some of his thoughts and feelings, but mostly he remembered Jay for being an exceptional songwriter and broke into ‘Romantic Fool’.  I sucked back the tears but felt the love filter through the room.  Further proof that the strength in music does indeed sustain us, it lets us feel every single thing as we should because life is emotional and painful and joyful and ongoing and most importantly, it aids us in our healing.  It’s altogether poignant and beautiful.  Needed, crucial and life affirming.  I am certain that Jay was there in every note.  He certainly was in our hearts.

It was another night of absolute elevation for me.  I really respect and believe in the music Matt writes and shares.  He is consistent with his positive essence, his innate storytelling ability and his reasons to rock.  One of my favorite Canadians brought a new record, a superb band and the love of music with him.  If you weren’t present, you missed out.  Truly.

I left the bar not only inspired, peaceful and blessed but full of a great sense of creative purpose.  I showed up with dear friends for a dear friend and came away a little bit of a better human being for having been there.  If music is magic, Matt Epp is an efficient magician who dazzles and dares one to delve deep, for love of self, each other, God and the world.  For those things am ever grateful and continue to revel in his work and pay it forward any chance I get.  He deserves that.

The Carleton really is the best venue in Halifax for live shows.  I am a big believer in the ‘listening room’ concept and really appreciate that I can spend my money on a show and as a serious music lover, sit and listen without having to hear people banter over the band.  I want to experience a song, an artist when I buy a ticket.  I can do that at The Carleton and it’s amazing.  Major props to the owners and staff for always being so hospitable and for booking world class artists like Matt Epp.

‘Learning To Lose Control’ is a phenomenal record.  It even features Serena Ryder.  It’s available on iTunes and if he comes to your town, at the merch table.  I know you’ll want to add it to your music library.  Be warned, if you buy one record, you’ll want them all.

In propinquity,

Nic

Writer's Room

(the newest 'rock wall' instillation - in progress)

I have a space.  A writing space.  And while it is currently without a working computer for all of my creative pursuits, it is my space.  My writing space is littered with things.  With books, music, photos, trinkets and momentos.  It's the museum of my life.  There is a little bit of everyone I love in this room, all of the things that have introduced me to joy, inspired me, elevated me and let me down.  This is my space, it is primarily where I create and where my most precious collections are.  Yes, of late I've been writing at work but it's more about finding the best use of my down time than it is about ignoring my safe, creative haven.

When I am in this room (that is currently without curtains but gives me a great view of a brand new window where a protective pewter dragonfly hang) I think, I sing and pace and sulk and cry.  I laugh in here, I make a mess sometimes and other times it's so pristine that I beam with pride.  When I am in this room I am safe and creative and I am my true self.  I know to some it looks like a hot mess but it somewhere I truly breathe and brainstorm.  There is so much to catch my eye, to cull ideas and the comforts of those who make me happiest and those times we shared, shows, parties, weddings, births and break-ups - it is my artist's home.

Tonight is a bucket list event.  I'll be seeing Leonard Cohen in concert.  He's a literary hero and I am beside myself with excitement even though I'll be in the nosebleed section.  I can't wait to absorb all of that energy and then come home in an inspired haze and add his ticket stub to my wall.  Today is momentous.  It is happy.  It is something that means a great deal to me.  I strong-armed one of my oldest and dearest friends to accompany me.  Perhaps a little of that old-school charm and grace will seep into her skin and she'll come away a fan. ;)

If you should find yourself on my wall, know you are loved.  If you don't see yourself chances are you are somewhere on the other side of the room.  That wall is almost full but still needs work.  If you want me to love you, let me know.  There's always room in my heart.

Happy Leonard Cohen day to ME!  Happy Saturday to you all.  Wherever you end up, enjoy.  Don't forget to love your people and offer kindness into the universe so that it comes back to you.  That, is poetry.

In propinquity,

Nic

Anti-Censure

Wow, it’s February already!  Where is the time going?  Kids, it has been one long hellish week.  I am at my wit’s end with all of the irritants and dramas of real/work life.  I’m ready to shrug it all off and face forward to a weekend I’ve been anticipating since before the Christmas holidays.  That’s right folks; it’ll be Springtime In Vienna here tomorrow.  The Tragically Hip will be here to entertain.  This concert will suspend me into my happy place.  Their music and in particular the lyrics, have always left me in awe.  Gord Downie is an incredible rock poet, he inspires me and his words challenge me and make me think.  They are visual, emotional and worshipful.  He can coin a phrase, sing a line, ad-lib until the cows came home and I’d be enthralled, hanging off of every notion.  There is nothing more magical than the marriage of lyrics and music and nothing as profound of those two things united presented live.  One more sleep!  One more sleep!

I am sad to say that after I shared my two short stories and started the third, I lost a bit of prose-writing steam.  That happens I suppose, right?  I’m not worried because the idea/character/intention is still present and I am still churning out poetry.  It’ll come.  I won’t be too hard on myself for stalling because never have I ever completed three short stories and shared them almost back to back in my life.  I’m confident more will come and eventually I’d like to write something longer.  Baby steps, yes?  I worked hard at setting attainable writing goals while heeding to inspiration.  I think I did reasonably well. 

In thinking of my goals on writing stories this poem arrived.  Books are always showered with descriptive and interesting accolades as promo and tools for getting people excited about what’s between the pages.  Just something fun for a Friday.

Anti-Censure

written

an erotically charged

blistering social satire

from an articulate

observant writer

deeply entertaining

fantastically indiscreet

this compulsively

readable account

chronicles

objectionable behavior

with rollicking reverence

fast-paced

eye-opening

deeply entertaining

experience the full

novelistic breadth

of mesmerizing prose

vivid cadence of events

wide in scope

epic in depth

deliciously meticulous

from an emerging voice

in contemporary fiction

a searing debut

on sale now

**

As I was typing I think I stumbled on something, a small glimpse for the new piece.  A character and an interesting turn of events perhaps.  I don’t know what I’ll do with the flash because the new story itself started out to be so specific.  Hmmm …

As you were.

Happy Friday!  Happy February!  Be kinder than necessary.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - The new issue of Open Heart Forgery is out and up online!  I made the cut this month.  See for yourself:

http://ohforgery.com/