Late To The Party

Today’s prompt (which took me more like 20-25 minutes to write instead of 10 because I was writing as I worked) is to write a scene using an unreliable narrator and give her a cat.

This is what came:

Late To The Party

I promised I would go but I lied.  Well, I didn’t lie per se, I did plan to go but when the time came to embark on the journey to the undesired destination, I flaked. The best decision was to stay home in my sweats, listen to music and scroll through hundreds of delicious recipes on Pinterest that I want to try but will never make.  As you can clearly see, I am quick to make promises I can’t keep.  I admit, I have no follow through. 

I was supposed to be there by 7:30pm.  It is now 8:23pm.  My phone is set on vibrate and is lighting up like a Christmas tree;  texts, voicemails, Facebook messages, tweets, all boasting the same query, “Where ARE you!?”  I delete each notification as I skim without really reading.  Then voice mail. 

Margaret was first, “Nellie Briggs!  How dare you desert your …”

Delete.

Then there was Carol, “I keep telling myself that you’re probably just running late.  Having a wardrobe malfunction or are stuck in traffic.   You better …”

Delete.

And Janine spat out a sour tone, “I can’t believe you aren’t here.  How selfish …”

Delete.

And of course Dawn, my best friend in the whole entire world, “Congratulations Nell, you win.  Never will I ever do a single thing for you again, ever!  You exhaust me and I’m really disappointed this time more than all the other times that you promised you’d show and up and didn’t.  You are a terrible friend, Nellie.  Oh, happy birthday.  The party I threw for you was lovely.”

Replay message.

Delete.

Dawn.  We have been through every major life event together, college, botched life plans, illness, silliness, sadness, celebration, bad boyfriends, bad hair and broken hearts.  Her cat is the almost twin sister to my Marbles, a lazy blue eye-d Ragdoll kitty with a silky color-point coat.  Even she is looking at me with disappointment. 

If these people were my friends they would accept me for who I am.  They should know I have loner tendencies and that I prefer solitude to crowded places and that I like to observe instead of being the center of attention.  I am not adventurous or spontaneous, I work my guts out all day and I just like to relax and take it easy.  How is that wrong?!  I know I can be insensitive to the hardships and demands of others but I live my life for me and do what I want and if I don’t want to do something that’s my choice and no one else’s so they can suck lemons.  Plus, how many other people accept a Facebook invite and say they are going to some stupid Scentsy party or a baby shower and don’t actually go?  Millions.  I’m not the only flake.

Yeah, saying that out-loud does make me sound like an asshole, doesn’t it?

Oh well.  C’est la vie. 

**

TGIF!  I just made plans with my friend Colleen tonight and am contemplating a family gathering tomorrow that is a road trip away.  Feeling a little blue, left over from yesterday and I'm really behind in my sleep but I'm happy the weekend is upon us and next week is a four day week for me leading up to my overnight away in Hubbard to see Matt Mays with friends.  Mmm lobster dinnnner.

I wish you peaceful easy feelings and lots of laughs with those you love.

In propinquity,

Nic

Raggedy Paperback

I signed up to receive writing prompts in my email daily.  The purpose of the exercise is to accept the prompt and spend ten solid minutes, preferably by hand, on the subject.  I received my first challenge today, an effort on my part to keep sharp and to think on my toes.  These exercises are designed to be short bursts of joy, of straight writing, without editing, without research, without hesitation.

My first one was to write about a raggedy paperback, with the narrator starting outside.  I kept her outside for the duration.  I wrote this off the cuff and I confess while feeling a slight shade of blue so it's a little bit sad.  I didn't really write too much about the paperback, it was more symbolic of the situation but this is what flashed when I started to scribble.  

Double teapot action today!  It's the write way, yes?

**

Raggedy Paperback

I am quiet.  It is peaceful sitting here with him on the park bench where we first met, not speaking,   With only a few solitary souls roaming the Public Gardens, the occasional squawk of a duck and rush hour traffic slowing down on Spring Garden Road, we rest there together but alone.  I contemplate a whole glossary of goodbyes before he tentatively clears his throat and utters the first fretted words, “I’m sorry, I just don’t love you the way you love me.”

A rebellious gaggle of teenage boys without helmets whiz by on BMX bikes, the speed disrupts the powdery path, dust slowly rises up into the sliver of sunlight left around our shaded perch.  I am quick to shut my eyes during his admission to prevent tears from coming and ask him, “Do you think it’s true?” 

“Is what true?”

“That someone in Heaven listens to you when you pray, like that story in the raggedy paperback you gave me the night we met on this bench.”

He replied, unable to face the unpleasantness of the moment, “How should I know, I don’t even believe in God.” 

“I don’t mean to intentionally override the measure of this break-up with irrelevant questions it’s just that I don’t understand, you were so tender and urgent when you pressed the book into my hand.  You turned me into a courageous person; you smoothed my hair away from my face and told me I was beautiful.  Do you remember?”

He shook his head, “I don’t remember anything.”

“You lie.”

“I’m out of here,” he yanks himself up off of the bench, hikes his collar up around his face and stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, “I’m sorry, I tried.  It’s been fun.”

I watch him walk away from me, the howl of sirens race along South Park Street, an ambulance, en route to the nearby hospital district, I pray they are coming for me because my heart has stopped beating.  Yesterday we were laughing like fools, today divided like a war torn region.  My bag at my feet spills out on the grass when reach to pick it up.  There it is, the raggedy paperback, its well-thumbed pages, notated margins and underlined passages.  My sadness drops me into a memory, us leaning amorously into each other across the table at Paper Chase Café, I’m mooning over the book’s cover that he has held up and away from his face while he reads aloud to me the sweet story steeped in love.

I once was loved.  Now I am lost.  A weathered paperback novel, a history book of sorts, and the scars, the only mementoes that remain.  Either, happy endings.

**

I look forward to my next prompt.  If you feel inspired, take a crack at the raggedy paperback too.

In propinquity,
Nic

Oh, Indubitably

Oh, Indubitably

ingenious conceits

frame this narrative

peppered with politeness

stippled with courtesy

unquestionable

too evident to be queried

zero prospects for miscalculation

an indubitable truth

shorn of superficial qualities

external facts

innocent resolve

the truth is unquestionable

the truth is an absolute

the philosophy perhaps

of an indifferent writer

**

Just wee poem while the sun shines on this Thursday afternoon.  I sat outside for a break just now, ear buds in, brain off, heart on, daydreaming.  I got so lost in pleasant thoughts I almost forgot to come back and man my 9 to 5 work-post.

I've completed the day's crossword and swallowed plenty of green tea, now I will attempt my new day writing prompt I started getting in my email.  It's sitting there waiting for me to open it so I can start writing. Wish me luck.  Stories are still on-going, still slow as molasses but they are coming.  In less than two hours, I'll have a 10 minute writing prompt complete and will be homeward bound with my book (currently reading 'Silver Linings Playbook' - I read half of it yesterday) and to my comfy clothes.

So, I write on!  Hope your face is in the shape of a smile today.

In propinquity,

Nic

Woman Troubadour

Woman Troubadour

she has been accredited

with many miracles

woman troubadour/articulate activist

a champion of narrative poems

on the subject of love & adventure

devoted herself to nursing broken hearts

never afraid to contract beauty from loved ones

woman troubadour/delicate hand-writer

watches the sun wind down

while the rest of us nest tentatively

the chorus of shared friendships

give way to a wide open margin

mutual sentences of loneliness & poverty

navigating the blueprints on pure instinct

woman troubadour/crowned felicity

never deceived

never betrayed

kindness & courtesy make every impression

on her remarkably advanced reasons to grieve

to know nothing of heart’s cold draught

is to single out the meaning of indifferent wind

woman troubadour/frequent flier

conquering faces by diminishing belongings

the beautiful multitude of singing in silence

your city expired in a war fought for justice

a woman with the fragrance of redemption in her hands

her message & the sky lowered

her expression & the ground swelled

milks tenderness dry

wrinkles the embers

do not cling to her button-down neckline

do not caress the complications of moonlight

woman troubadour

melodious matron

lives vicarious

through your tears

breathes miraculous

into your fears

with every intention to escape with a song

she grows too fierce employing impractical instruments

**

I kicked back into gear with ‘Large-Hearted’ yesterday and again today while it is slow at work.  Writing two stories in one has proven to be a challenge and I’m not exactly pleased with one of them.  I love the bulk of the whole story but the secondary tale has me at odds with word play.  I can’t seem to get it to flow the way I want it to.  I know what it is I want but it’s coming out like a big pile of dung. Gah!  I will continue to press on.  One word, one sentence at a time, right?

I finished this poem this morning after seeing a tweet by Carmen Townsend last night.  She shared a you-tube video of Patsy Cline’s ‘Walking After Midnight’ and it made me recall this one week where I was afforded a string of days where I was home alone.  I carted the stereo down into the kitchen along with a stack of CDs, my writing gear and a cookbook.  For one blissfully solitary stretch, I wrote and baked perfect apple pies from scratch and sang along with my musical friends at the top of my lungs, something I don’t do often because I’m not known to carry much of a tune.  But, it was peaceful.  I spent time with Joni Mitchell, Diana Krall, Tracy Chapman, Norah Jones, Ricki Lee Jones, Courtney Love, Stevie Nicks and Patsy Cline.  I think of that time fondly as I could easily spend my days that way, squirreled away with the company of music, Muses and confectionary delights.  I don’t mind being alone until the well needs to be re-filled.  In the spirit of my soulful sisters, songstress angels, poetess influences I wrote ‘Woman Troubadour’.  It reflects the spirit, strength, courage and wealth of all creative women and the gifts they give and their brave hearts.  

I tweeted in reply to Carmen that I often hum ‘Walking After Midnight’ and she then said it was attached to fond memories of her Mama.  I love how music does that, for women, for the world.  It’s powerful.  Wonderful.

Back to working on my story until it’s time for my afternoon commute where I’ll get lost in my book while singing a pretty tune under my breath.

In propinquity,

Nic

Anti-Poetry

Anti-Poetry

irony is lonely

fanciful writing

it bothers the heart

a superstitious business

a poet’s abundance

dissertations of inferiority

flags of blunt vigilance

interrupt the fluid music

where secrets are silent

charisma is deceptive

intention is bewildering

abandoned satire

lonesome writing

irony is lonely

lonely is mine

**

What a lovely weekend.  The sun shone and continues to shine today accompanied by a cool breeze through my window as I type.  Friday evening, I witnessed love.  I attended the wedding reception of a friend and felt the full abundance of true love.  It was wonderful.  I had a lovely time talking to other people on the precipice of marriage and who are walking in joy.  Their company, under the twinkly lights, reminded me that true love does indeed rule and it is attainable.  I appreciate good humans with kind hearts who can instill that value, the value of tenderness and combined spirit.  May have fueled a few scribbles but we'll soon see.

Saturday morning's sun came out for the Eastern Passage/Cow Bay Summer Carnival parade.  My town has an annual carnival for as long as I can remember.  My only participation this year was taking in the parade with my pals.  The best part, A&W rootbeer suckers.  Nom!  Erica and I took her daughter over to Halifax afterward and had a bite to eat on the Carleton patio and browsed around for a little bit.  I was pleased we did because I discovered a french cafe I can't wait to try and stumbled by the entrance to Inkwell, a modern handmade boutique and letterpress studio.  The stationary junkie in me was quite pleased.  I browsed the gorgeous handmade cards, prints, paper and accessories in the summer heat.  I was a little mesmerized.  I bought two pieces, a wedding card for friends tying the knot at the end of the month and something sweet and simple for my next card tag with Ru.  Can't wait to be 'it'!

Today, I managed a poem.  Something small and seemingly uninspired.  I also am considering of pulling out my 'Large-Hearted' pages and going somewhere to edit for a bit, depending on my dinner plans.  I'm buying time blogging until I find out how my day will pan out.

I may have had too good of a time yesterday because once the evening came, I wasn't feeling well.  I curled up with comfy blankets and pillows and finished off S2 of the now canceled NBC show 'Smash'.  I loved the first season, the creation, workshop and mounting of a musical based on the life of Marilyn Monroe and waited patiently for the second season to be released on DVD.  It came out on the 6th of this month.  It arrived in my mailbox two days later and I'm already finished.  While the first season was all about character development, the musical and the music, the second season packed an emotional punch.  I didn't weep once first season but in the last half of the second I was a sobbing fool! I am sad it was axed by the network because it was original, full of characters you just fall in love with and root for.  Despite it being canceled, they ended it on a perfect note.  I'm going to really miss it and spending time on Broadway.

Happy Sunday to you and yours.  Go easy and count your blessings, another work week is upon us.

In propinquity,
Nic

Drag The Past Out Into The Light

Drag The Past Out Into The Light

what emerges from the past is revelatory

our first frenzied happenstance

stirred a lively correspondence

drove an ardent but naive tangle

I was a little shy and a touch earnest

you were far-flung and acutely offhand

oblivious

I dug in deep

you feigned sincere

for a selfish agenda

we rose

we lingered

fleetingly

our last impassioned encounter

sped toward imminent disaster

you only wanted the pieces of me

the unsung pieces

those not narrative

the informal pieces

anxiety quickly replaced affection

sorrow devoured the goodness

what surfaced from your vague intentions

facades revealed by premeditated deceit

occasioned my sad irrepressible future

pitted against the one that you love

a dire conversation is long awaited

yet never transpires

even in all of its predicted nonsense

it most certainly turns into something

a punishment for love is an empty apology

do not drag the past out into the light

he said with clear conceited calculation

you are not the one for me

do not condescend me with your concern

I replied with my frozen nightmare heart

you are not good enough for me

**

Writing prompt this time around was, ‘use a song lyric to inspire a poem’.  I have had U2’s One stuck in my head for days and the line I used to title my poem and used as the spring board jumped out at me.  I didn’t intentionally set out to be morose or melancholy; it’s just where the Muse moved me.  You can’t challenge His direction, right?

It’s the only thing I managed to write all weekend and it came in dribs and drabs.  I couldn’t find the steam over the last three days to do any serious writing but it was important that I at least scribble.  My marbles were still pretty much kaput and I actively used the time to fill the well by attending a soulful Sunday afternoon grooving to a Mellotones in the Public Gardens.  The band played in the bandstand under a beautiful blue sky and billowing clouds.  I marveled at the delighted audience, seniors, hippies and children dancing in the grass.  It was a feel-good afternoon that served my spirit well. 

Yesterday I did as I said I would and braved my first ever bridge walk.  I walked the length of the MacDonald Bridge, spanning the Halifax harbour, connecting Dartmouth to Halifax.  The span was closed to traffic leaving it free for pedestrians to stroll.  While black clouds loomed, thunder rolled and chain lightening shot through the sky, I walked.  Mid-way across, the wind picked up matching my pounding heart, well aware I was up high over deep water.  Pleased with myself for actually walking all the way across I challenged myself to return via the bike path on the outside of the bridge, putting me closer to the edge, more aware of the water below.  I came upon a message spray-painted on the sidewalk half way back that said, ‘conquer your fear’.  Even though my heart was pounding in my ears I smiled because that’s exactly what I was working toward doing.  Baby steps, one thing at a time.  I felt exhilarated when I finished.  I am proud of myself for doing it.  To many, walking across the bridge is no big deal.  It was for me and I can humbly announce I dominated the task!  So cool.

One of these days I will get re-focused on my prose pieces.  God willing.  But, is there any hurry?  You can’t rush creativity.  As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Be nice to others.  Think before you speak.  Wear kindness.

In propinquity,

Nic

The Smell of Books in Love

The Smell of Books in Love

if you extract

heat and chaos

from love

all that remains

will be the smell

of old lonely books

do not be fool-hearted

press on read ahead

sixteen pages further

to be exact

before you resolve

to abolish the appetite

for romantic urges

if you excerpt

poetry and whimsy

from friendship

all that will be left

will be the tang of acid

in the white zinfandel

do not be careless

do not be frivolous

if you omit ire

from your heart

pages will flourish

stories will survive

**

No nuggets of wisdom to share today, nothing pressing except to say that it's a brand new month.  How the blazes did it get to be August already!?  Where is the time going?  Geez Louise.

Happy August 1st!

Come as you are.

In propinquity,
Nic