Eye for an Eye

Mine

My mind’s or the law’s?

The storm and the beholder.

Feast for or on them?

Keep yours open. 

As far as they can see. 

More than meets.

In the sky, a flash or pie.

Bird’s. bull’s. apple’s.

Bigger than your stomach.

Keep peeling. Open. No, closed.

Roving. Candy. Goo-goo.

Easy on. Life passes. Up to them. 

Popper. Twinkle. Starry.

Black. Bloodshot. Sore. Four.

Crying them out. 

Stink. Batting. Shut. Blink.

Dust in them,

Their wounding glint.

Wasn't a dry one.

The ball, 

prize, 

the wool. 

Look me in them. 

Can’t take them off. 

I only have them.

For you.

**********************************

You know how you get an idea stuck in your head and you can not, for the life of you, shake it out? Ever since I saw this prompt over at Thin Spiral Notebook, my mind started whirling with all the clichés I could think of including this word. It could not be helped or stopped.

Using “eyes” for inspiration, write 100 Words – 100 exactly – no more, no less. You can either use the word – or any form of the word – as one of your 100, or it can be implied. Include a link in your post back here, and add your story to the Mister Linky list. If you don’t have a blog, you can leave your submission in the comment section, or as a Facebook status post. Remember to keep spreading the love with supportive comments for your fellow Wordsters.

It's Monday, January 23rd! What Are You Reading?

Hosted by The Book Date

It was a great week in my reading life helped by the fact that I was on vacation.

What have I recently finished?

Man, I just love her and made quick work of this collection. Read almost the entire thing on a four hour flight. It is that good. This book is some sassy, sexy, troubling stuff. Exactly what I love! Described by Goodreads as “(a) collection of stories of rare force and beauty, of hardscrabble lives, passionate loves, and quirky and vexed human connection.” A-mazing!!!

This book club pick that proved worthy of lively and meaningful discussion even though I only gave it 3-stars. Waters writes beautifully, but this 570 page novel could easily have been 370, in my humble opinion. She writes same gender sensuality extremely well. I wish she might have dove into one character’s thoughts about her first experience in any kind of depth. Maybe she did not for a reason.

If you can get past the base premise of a Lolita-esque love affair, this book was very satisfying, well written and narrated (audiobook)). I give it two thumbs up. Try it!

What am I currently reading?

This is my next book club pick which was so convenient because I already had it on my shelf just begging to be read.

This book is best sipped story-by-story and is somewhat thought provoking so far.

What will I read next:

As usual, who knows?

What do you have going on these days?

Wait! What?!?!? Gina Wrote a Post AKA Mayonnaise and Making Out

[Surprise! Surprise! At long last, a blog post. I’ve decided what might work best is to focus on putting the proverbial pen to paper writing stream of consciousness style rather than working towards anything else for the moment. I want to tell stories! I want to write. I want to write (mildly) unfiltered stories.]

I recently finished a book called LaRose by Louise Erdrich. In the story, three teenaged sisters put mayonnaise in their hair to condition it. This called to mind the time I did the same thing.

I was a sorority girl at a large state university in the 80’s living with 60 girls simultaneously. And yes, it was a long time ago and that’s a lot of girls to live with. 

We took all the quizzes in Cosmo and bonded over boy talk and sex talk (sometimes overlapping discussions, and other times not…) and girl stuff. It was equal parts fun and stressful. I am, and forever will be, a girls’ girl most probably due my positive sorority experience.

Junior year, a group of sisters gathered in the community dining room to study. It was finals week and I decided it was the perfect time to condition my hair with mayonnaise because Cosmopolitan magazine said it was the natural way to improve and grow it. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone. Ace my tests and have fluffy yet smooth hair at the same time. Made lots of sense.

I slathered French sauce all over my head then pressed on tin foil to fashion a form fitting cap in order to add some heat to the process (this part was my idea!). I set out to pound through my Business Law chapters. In hindsight, I am not sure I would recommend the foil part because there was some weird dripping involved.

One of many prudish house rules was visiting boys had to be announced and were only allowed in the formal living room, which had glass doors creating an intentional fishbowl effect.

“Gina, you have a visitor.”

“Who is it?”

“Dave Henry.”

“F&%k!!!!! No!!!!!”

You see, I made out with him over Spring Break a few weeks prior and I kind of liked him. And now he was waiting in the living room to see me.

I did the only thing a slightly vain college girl with a crush could think of in a pinch.

Though I am pretty sure he knew I was home, I told one of the sisters to tell him I wasn’t home, crawled out the dining room window and ran through the dark lawn to the back door so he wouldn’t see me in my silver space cap. 

Let’s just say things with him frizzled out from there, but my hair was silky soft.

On Writing: A Good Question With A Great Answer

(This post first appeared on the blog one year ago today. I still think about this when I begin each and every post, and if you noticed, I deleted part of my post from yesterday.)

flavorwire.com

The extremely talented writer, Gillian Flynn, answered the following question today on Goodreads.

"When you write something like Gone Girl, or Sharp Objects, are you afraid of hurting your husband's or your mom's feelings with the things you say about those relationships that, granted, are not necessarily autobiographical, but that may contain half-truths drawn from real life? How do you handle that kind of situation?"

Gillian's response:

“Great question. I've learned that you can't worry and write at the same time. If you let yourself go down that road, then what you do (and believe me, I've done this) is write with a little nagging angel on your shoulder, who's wringing her hands and worrying that people might get upset. It's not a good way to write well. So I put everyone out of my head and write the story I need to write. Then I have a very important and useful conversation with those close to me. For instance, the mother in Sharp Objects is nothing like my mom and my husband and I are nothing like the Dunnes, but I think it's completely viable for them to ask me any questions they'd like—and I certainly want to know if they feel I've mined something unfairly from our relationships. (I try very hard to avoid the autobiographical, and if a character starts feeling too much like someone I know in real life, I take that as a sign I'm being lazy.) Thankfully I happen to be blessed with friends and family and a husband who love books and love that I'm a writer and respect that my imagination can take me to some very unsavory places that have nothing to do with them.”

I love her answer. It is something I have thought about, and still struggle with, every time I write anything. What will someone else think? Will they somehow see themselves in my tale? I have had to remind people that a piece is FICTION several times. 

Do you ever think about the impact your writing may have on your relationships when you put fictional, or even non-fictional, words to paper? 

A Poem of Frustration

Each time I fix to write,

my fingers freeze up

and wither.

My mind is so pissed off

it scream,

“Come ON, Dumb-Ass!

I spoon fed words

in dreams with popsicle promises,

and you can’t compose

fountain blue on white?

What good are you?”

My mind's lame bitch slap;

She needs to toughen up

'Cause the fighting is

exhausting.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Let's Start Writing Again, Shall We?

Five minutes of unedited, stream of consciousness writing hosted by All Things Fadra.

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Yep, I’ve been missing here for over a month. There are two reasons why, but it is mostly because I have not felt the ache to write. That's not exactly true and I will explain later. I used to write every day when I started this blog. The excitement was palpable. I couldn’t wait. Well, that was three and a half years ago.

I know the urge and the words ebb and flow. I’m patiently waiting for them to return in a documented form. The weird thing is, and maybe you do this too, I create posts, or morsels of them, in my head almost constantly almost daily. It actually feels I am writing. Mentally. And here, in my head, the words flow easily.

Yesterday, I Instagram stalked some blogger friends (I do follow them, so it wasn’t that creepy) who were attending Blogher. I have know idea where it is being held, but it looked like they were having a blast. They had cocktails in their hands! And I saw one of my hands down favorite writers/people. Kirsten from TheKirCorner.com. I immediately messaged her and she, of course, immediately got right back.

I told her I am happy because she is having a fabulous time. having fun and being recognized for her work. I also said, “I miss writing.”

She jumped on this comment immediately because she hasn’t been writing as regularly either and she proposed a pact. “Let’s start writing again. At least once a week.” Something like that. I agreed and it made me smile. I don’t know when I will start back but I think it will be after the summer. 

September 1st sounds like a good one, a start date, doesn’t it?

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Do You Tell Fellow Writers About Typos?

How does Sunday come around so quickly? Here I am, again, writing stream of consciousness style and linking it up over at Fadra’s place. 

The rules are simple:

Write for five minutes.

Don’t edit.

Publish.

Here goes…

***************************

I wish I could simply butt the heck out. Usually I am so, so, so good at it. Friday, I was not, and I am feeling a bit self-conscious. Maybe uneasy or uncomfortable are better words.

You see, I informed someone, a fellow blogger and acquaintance, of a typo in a post. I thought said writer would probably want to know because maybe the piece was written for something important. Or maybe not even important. Just because. And not to be a pill or anything. As much as I would want to know, I thought this person would want to know.

I even think I have had a writing/blogging conversation with this person, and we agreed that sometimes we can’t see a typo/mistake even though we have read something over and over and over. And sometimes we don’t have the time. Or sometimes maybe we don’t even care. But I do care. I know this person cares.

Oh well. What’s done is done. I can’t take my words back though I hope it was accepted in the spirit in which it was given. I only wanted to help. 

Because I thought you might want to know. 

Because I would want to know.

Do You Hide Your Journal?

I miss journaling.

I used to journal daily for a long, long time. It felt fantastic, not only the physical aspect of putting words to paper but the "let it all hang out", purging part was even better. A release.

I have three beautiful journals. An old one, which is made of green, tooled leather with gold page ends that I carried in my purse forever. A red leather, feels like butter, one my daughter bought for me in Italy a few years back during her first backpacking trip to Europe, which I have used to document my travels. And a beautiful brown leather book that my sister-in-law thoughfully gave me for Christmas because she knows I love to write, and we are repairing a very damaged relationship.

My question to all of you is this:

Where do you keep your journal?

I want to be able to write without hesitation, unedited, freely, without worry, and I feel as if I can't because I am internally blocked by the thought that someone, anyone, will read it. Now, in this household, we do respect each others' privacy (mail, emails, texts, etc..), but something inside me still cautions, "Watch out! Fictional tales may be thought of as truth. Poems may be misinterpreted. Perceptions or memories of real life events may not be shared by others involved."

I talked about this very thing with my boss at work just yesterday. She journals too, and feels likewise about the benefits of journaling as a way to express creativity, record thoughts and feeling, and sort through life's many curveballs. Her suggestion to me was to write then feed the pages through a paper shredder. Immediately!

I can't do that! I need to go back, at some point, and re-read my words and review and ponder my feelings.

Therefore, I am left with the realization that hiding it/them is my only real option. It's all in my head, I know.

So enquiring minds want to know this:  Do you journal? If so, where do you keep them and do you worry or care if anyone reads your entries?

Promises Made to Self (Thanks!)

I promise myself I will write more in the new year. I promise I will write more once my computer gets fixed. I promise I will take my computer to Apple for repair after returning from vacation. I promise to have a fantastic vacation adventure. I promise to stay completely in the present while on holiday. I promise to read two books while there. I promise to finish the first, Mermaids in Paradise, on this second flight. I promise to lend it out at the resort without regard for its return.  I promise...

Wheels up.

Going Out "Old School" and Seeing an Eye

Yesterday, I set out on a day's worth of errands and Christmas preparations without my cell phone. I figured it out as soon as I walked out the front door of my building. Not that going back to retrieve it was a big deal, or too far; I simply didn't feel like it.

It was a little weird at first.

For one split second I thought, "What would I miss?" "What if someone needed me?" "Would there be an emergency?" "Would anyone even notice I was out of touch?"

Then it felt freeing.

I'm a parent and a spouse. And not that people go looking for me, but sometimes people are looking for me.

I would only be "off grid" for six hours. No big deal.

Maybe I have mentioned this in the past, but I don't wear a watch. Haven't in roughly thirteen years, give or take a year. People have commented. Asked why. And I know people have thought it strange. Let me tell you, it didn't take any getting used to on my part. I don't miss one. I don't have any problem figuring out what time it is. A lot of times, I don't want to know what time it is.

Remember when your mom rang the dinner bell outside your back door, and it didn't sound like your neighbors', so you knew it was time to head in? I liked that. You didn't have to bother knowing until it was time to know.

I am only telling you about the watch thing because without one, or a cell phone, I had to go "old school" to figure out the time in order to be prompt for my appointments. I am uncomfortable being late.

If there wasn't a clock around, and surprisingly, there are less clocks around than you think, I asked.

"Will you please tell me the time?" I asked a barista, the receptionist at European Wax, a business man at a corner. I don't even know how many times I asked. Probably seven.

It was actually fun.

[As an aside: I hate bothering people. I have told you before I'm quiet, though not an introvert, yet open and polite to people who cross my path or engage me. Hopefully, I didn't bother anyone! Does it annoy you when someone asks for the time?]

I guess the biggest thing I noticed were the "crickets". Nothing (but the street scene). No vibrating coat pocket. No Natalie Merchant "These Are Days" ring tone. The sound of silence, as far as my phone was concerned. Dare I say it was blissful?

I wasn't stressed. I couldn't check a phone between appointments even if I had an itch. Then I forgot about it.

Because my face wasn't buried in a screen checking for some kind of update, I looked around. I people watched. This sounds corny, but I actually caught myself humming to "Silent Night" playing outside one of the hotels. (One of my favorites because my mom sings it.)

My biggest score was on Ontario Street, east of Michigan Avenue. On the sidewalk, and in the general vicinity of where a particular homeless man usually sits, I saw a small, painted eye. It was about as big as a quarter and vibrant and blue. It was detailed, with lashes, an iris, no eyebrow.

It was like a surprise. A present. A little piece of art.

Who painted this eye and why?

The homeless man?

What did this eye see as everyone passed by never noticing it?

What did it think of me as I bent over to get a closer look?

Why blue and not brown?

And a day later, I am still thinking about this eye...

[Of course, my phone just about imploded with messages when I got home. "Mom?!?!?!?" "Honey, why aren't you answering your texts?" "Honey?"  "Are you ok?" "MOM!!!!!"]

Drain the Tub I'm Drowning

The last drop drips down the drain,

finally giving you what you’ve wanted; 

me leaving you alone, 

forever.

(Hope I can do this
forever thing.

So infinite, it is.)

Because anything one-sided is always less 

interesting, enjoyable, or satisfying.

And I’m tired.

Trifecta: Paper Hearts

blog.thelovenerds.com

We’re taught to properly crease, deliberately trace, and carefully cut. Unfolded, mirror images wondrously appear reflecting its perfect completeness. When it tears, because it will, it doesn’t rip symmetrically. Someone always hurts more.

**************************

This was written for Trifecta’s final challenge (tears) using the following prompt:

“There's no topic, no word, just a free write. Go anywhere your mind wants to travel.  Take us there too.  Just make it count, leave your blood all over this page.  Thirty-three words exactly.  Of course.  We couldn't end it any other way.”

Thank you, Trifecta, for bringing all of us together. And thanks to everyone who’s spent even one minute reading the words I’ve written over the last two and a half years in connection with Trifecta, or otherwise. It means the world to me.

The Kid's Are In The House: Day One

Not me!

I wrote a post. It was a ten minute-ish, stream of consciousness, kind of post. I thought it was pretty good considering the limited time I had to write it. 

It was about a quiet start to my Saturday, a house full of kids (one girl, six boys, two mine, five not) and Dunkin' Donuts. It was sweet and light just like the morning I was having since they sleep in so late. 

It was about the joys of having college kids home for the Thanksgiving holiday and the inherent, yet lovely, commotion that tags along. The crazy hours, the revolving door of friends in and out and in and out. Even the sibling bickering sounded like a refreshing change to my normally quiet routine.

And in the very few seconds I took my eye off the ball amidst the chaos of having seven college kids in the house, I managed to cut (but not paste) and delete the post I wrote without saving it.

So I put on my happy, smiling, “nice” mommy face even though I’m frustrated as hell right now. I began writing again. And this post is nothing like the post I wrote before but it's all I can do right now.

It's only day one.

It could end up being a long nine days…

Trifecta: Intentions

This could actually be a true story if I actually did this. I am going to this event. If you're in Chicago, you could go too. And for all you fiction writers out there, there’s still time to submit your story for the Nelson Algren Literary Award for short stories. Somebody has to win, right?

*******************

It was like standing in the center of a souvenir snow globe of Michigan Avenue, as if someone turned the entire city of Chicago upside down and gently shook. The snow fell like tiny, soft, feathery flakes lightly blanketing everything it touched including her. It was a beautiful evening. 

She pulled up her hood.

As one of the remaining patrons still outside, she had the “good” kind of nerves. Maybe it was called “nervous with anticipation”. She wasn’t sure, didn't really care, but anyone watching closely would recognize her fidgeting.

She had just two tickets.

It was her intention to invite both to the event she so passionately wished to attend thinking each would love it as much as her. Plus, she didn’t want to go alone or with someone who’d simply “put up” with it on her account.

So she emailed an off-handed invitation, providing them plenty of notice. She worded it so casually. So nonchalant. No pressure. They both said they planned to try.

Hedging bets came naturally to her.

Why these two?

Because she was forever drawn to people with whom she “strongly suspected” she’d have a deep connection. These two melded with her on many levels. Reading, writing, intelligent and passionate conversation were alluring to all three. She knew that about them.

She told herself she’d be equally excited whoever walked down the street. Mentally preparing for one, more likely, due to proximity because the other, she thought, required much more effort and finesse.

And they couldn’t be more different.

One was a woman. One was a man.

She didn’t know either well. Okay. Not at all really. In fact, she had never met either in person. She just desired to.

Grasping at diminishing confidence, she thought, “What if they both came?”

Then, "Or neither?"

“Breathe.”

Gazing in the opposite direction, she heard a tentative, “Hello?”

Breaking into her widest smile,

“I’m so happy it’s you!”

“What do you mean “you”?

“I’m so happy to finally see you.”

***********************

33-333 words for:

INTENTION (noun)

1: a determination to act in a certain way : resolve

2: import, significance

3a : what one intends to do or bring about

  b : the object for which a prayer, mass, or pious act is offered

Am I a Good Liar? Which One is True?

Today's topic for Monday Listicles over at Stasha's Place is 10 facts about us. The tricky part here is 9 are fictional but one has to be true. I can do that because I'm writing them, not saying them. If I say something or tell you something, it's true. 

However...writing is about living in a make believe world sometimes. Right? I'm so down with that, too. 

So I've tried to make these "me facts" about things I don't regularly talk here but if you know me, I think this one will be fairly easy. So here goes...9 are fiction, one is true.

1. I don’t eat meat of any kind. Not chicken, fish and certainly not beef! I’m strictly a veggies girl.

2. Pizza would NOT be my choice for “you can only eat one thing for the rest of your life” on a deserted island. Actually, I’d do quite well by myself, all alone, on a deserted island for life. No one to keep me company but books.

3. I am deathly afraid of the water, being underwater, feeling submerged. I won’t snorkel and don’t even ask me to SCUBA dive!

4. I am a total blabbermouth and say everything that comes to my mind. I stick my foot in my mouth so often that I embarrass my husband and children!

5. I have a tattoo that is 1.5” by 3” and it’s in a spot you can see if you really look hard. It’s a favorite quote in another language.

6. I am not a morning person! In fact, don't touch me or even speak to me in the morning until I’ve had coffee and a shower!

7. I am extremely mellow on the outside; you'll have to push all kinds of buttons to get me to lose my temper then you've got a full blown Italian explosion on your hands. The good news is that it’s over before you know it. I apologize easily and don’t hold grudges.

8. I own a snake and feed it one frozen mouse every week.

9. I am absolutely the slowest driver in the world. As a matter of fact I was ticketed once for driving too slow.

10. I’m extremely neat. My house is impeccably tidy at any given time because I’m slightly obsessed with lack of clutter. I can’t stand anything out of place and wig out a bit if someone doesn’t put something away immediately!

Trifecta: Why I Write

For this weekend's Trifecta challenge, "in honor of all of the writers throwing rationality (and perhaps sanity) to the wind and writing 'til their fingers bleed", they're asking for exactly 33 words about why we write. So here are mine (this is hard in so few words but I suppose that's the point):

Bickering crazies dance conspiratorially in my head needing indulgence.

Gifting an excitable imagination with 

Purpose

Replenishes endorphins paralleling reading, no running. Well, almost.

Spoken words never match comparably.

Can’t.

Don’t.

Won’t.

That’s why.

10 Someday I'll Do's

5.)    Someday I am going to _______. (Inspired by Marcy Writes)

Man, there are a hundred things I “think” I’m going to do someday. Hundreds!!!

The list has resided solely in my head, pretty much, until last weekend when it came up in conversation with my best friend. Of course, she’s heard or knows most of these things yet a few were new to even her and a few she just said “Why?!?” Because I have to, which may not be a very good reason at all?

Something’s have been on “the list” for a very long time (most) and a few things are new-ish. But I’m constantly thinking about it.  Some of these things are wishes blurred with someday things but they’re kind of the same, aren’t they? And I’ll just add as an aside, I’m not getting any younger so I should probably hustle on a few (no comments from the peanut gallery, please and you know who you are!)

So….Someday I’m going to _____________________.

1.     Become fluent in another language other than American and British English. My best chance is Spanish for which I have an entire Rosetta Stone program, unopened from almost 5 Christmases past. It was an expensive program and my family is still upset with me that I haven’t taken off the cellophane yet. I currently speak outstanding Spanglish for which I’m fairly proud, a teensy bit of French and a wee bit of Italian.

2.     Rent an apartment in Rome and live for a year.

3.     Get a rescue Lab to fill this house back up with some puppy action. Addison is too lonely without her sister!

4.     Rent a 58’ boat and sail throughout the Caribbean Sea for an entire winter.

5.     Become a yoga teacher and perfect that calm, soothing voice all great yoga teachers have helping their student to meditate peacefully and effectively.

6.     Take creative (fiction) writing classes at the local college.

7.     Live in the city again. I mean Chicago.

8.     Send in our application for the Amazing Race (mine and Susie’s) soon because it is due November 1^st.  The video submission is being edited right now. Our premise is that people often think we’re sisters and sometimes twins. We are quite funny together and, as a twosome, can charm just about anyone. She’s committed to doing all the gross eating challenges and I will hang out of all the helicopters. We don’t fight and we’re not catty but we make a joke out of just about everything but mostly ourselves. Wish us luck!

9.     Complete the 500 mile La Camino de Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage in Spain (The French Way (or route)). Actually, I’m leaving on June 3^rd, 2013. It will take 30 days.

10.                       Publish something some place other than on my blog. Taking that several steps further, I aspire to be a travel writer providing the 411 on exciting destinations, off the beaten path things to do, yummy food to eat and great places to stay.  And then get picked up by The Travel Channel and have a show that would be a combination Samantha Brown meets Anthony Bourdain (she’s too goody goody and he’s a bit brash) type vibe.

I don’t think any of these “some days” are too much to ask, do you? A girl’s got to dream!