1) It’s time for the Science Fiction Poetry Association voting of the 2010 Rhysling Awards. Every year people in the SFPA can vote on the previous years best poetry from those nominated. You get this neat book to look through and decide on the short and long poems you think are deserving of the year’s awards. I’ve never been involved in nominating anyone, but I do like reading those who have been nominated, seeing all that’s out there, and voting on the ones I like best. My choices never win, but I like knowing I was part of the process and hope that the people who’s poems I voted for will soon be recognized elsewhere if not here. Anyway, it’s a cool thing to be involved in.
2) My short story, “Love’s Clothing”, published in the February 2010 issue of Aoife’s Kiss, got a good brief mention on Charles Gramlich’s blog, Razored Zen (last paragraph here). If you haven’t followed his blog before, I recommend reading along. He can be a good read. And I feel good that a writer so talented enjoyed something I wrote.
Anyway, just sharing the two cool things I’m involved in right now.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Under the skin...
Crossposted from Blogetary...
Sunday, my dad and stepmom came down to visit and spend time with me and a cousin who now lives down here. Family vacations and outings can be a chore—ask anyone. But this last time it all went so very well. We had a great time. We were patient with each other, listened, joked, and actually heard each other. Good times were had by all. I was amazed! I'm a veteran of the family/friend outing where someone gets pissy or miffed or slams a door or needs to go take a timeout. But this was not the case this week. So, I was a little sad to see my dad and stepmom go, but it was the perfect amount of time, so it was all good.
On top of that, I still love my job. Really, really love my job. I'm thankful for it every day and felt guilty that I couldn't work past my normal quitting time because I had guests in town. I felt guilty because I like my work. That feels so good!
I was in a glow of goodness.
After Dad and my stepmom left, I went to dinner with some friends and it was amazing how fast that glow was shattered. Two sentences (maybe less) into my story about my idyllic family Fathers Day weekend one friend loses his temper at something I said. But instead of saying "sorry" like I normally do I actually stood up for myself, which just made it worse of course. And the rest of the evening was basically not the fun catchup dinner it was supposed to be and the golden glow I had about my visit was gone. No way I wanted to share it now, not if I was going to get yelled at.
We came to a truce, had a pleasant evening, but even then for some reason it seemed to be my fault the evening was ruined, even though it was someone else's bad behavior and hypocritical comments that had kind of sent things that direction.
So, no drama with the family, but drama with the friends.
That evening I couldn't get it out of my head, still can't. But last night I realized part of the success of one and failure of the other is that I have developed tools over the years to function in my family. Plus, as much of an ass as my dad can be, he can take as much as he dishes out, so if you're willing to stand up to him intelligently he's fine. I'd had three days of being able to hang out with a group of people who can tease and banter and give and take and it's EXPECTED that if you dish it out, you're gonna get some back. If you're gonna complain about someone being late then the next time everyone is waiting for you, you're going to hear about it. All in good fun because that's part of the art of good banter. But those are also the tools I have with my family.
With some of my friends, I don't have those same tools. I've let a codependent relationship develop where it's okay for me to be the butt of jokes but not okay me to dish it back. It's okay for them to play hooky from work but not okay for someone else to play hooky. I might be feeling a little under the weather, but it's not nearly as bad as what they're going through. Or, for some reason because I have a shell, smudge stick and mug on my bathroom shelf, I'm a packrat, even if I could fit all I own into a small Uhaul truck while they might have storage spaces, garages and rooms full of stuff they rarely even see, let alone use. I'm the one with the "artistic" temperament when they're the ones who throwing fits over the types of foods or materials that come near them. I might do the same to them. We project our fears and expectations on each other rather than seeing each other clearly.
That's an extreme description of several people and only from my own point of view. It's not always like that. And it's certainly not wrong for people to have their own perspectives or points of view. We aren't always so trapped in our own perspectives, but it goes there. And since I've been reading The New Codependency by Melody Beattie and rereading The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Han it struck me how I have gotten to the point, without realizing it, of needing tools to deal with my friends. I expected to need tools with my family. I didn't expect to need tools with my friends, so their remarks have stuck under my skin more than is necessary. I haven't had my boundaries up and at the ready when I should have.
So, last night when I was thinking over what I could have done or said differently to remedy or bypass the drama, I realized it would have been an Akido move - surrender to the blow and use the energy to come back in a detached and logical manner. I think, I don't know, that that would translate to letting my friend be angry, taking a deep breath, counting to 10 or 20 or 30, and then after he'd resumed a normal heart beat asked, "Why are you getting mad at me when you are obviously mad at someone else?" or "Why are you mad about someone doing something that you yourself have done many times and will do again many times more?" or "Why is this important to you? Why can't you allow for this without commandeering it for your own perspective?" "Why does anyone belong in a 'doghouse' when no one is at fault?"
But that's "couldawouldashoulda" or water under the bridge and I just need to release it and learn from it, and ultimately, understand that I need my tools for healthy interaction just as much with my friends as I do my family. And understand that when a friend is trapped in their own perspective or illusion of what life (their life, my life, someone else's life) should be, that I need to have patience with them so they'll have patience with me.
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
Sunday, my dad and stepmom came down to visit and spend time with me and a cousin who now lives down here. Family vacations and outings can be a chore—ask anyone. But this last time it all went so very well. We had a great time. We were patient with each other, listened, joked, and actually heard each other. Good times were had by all. I was amazed! I'm a veteran of the family/friend outing where someone gets pissy or miffed or slams a door or needs to go take a timeout. But this was not the case this week. So, I was a little sad to see my dad and stepmom go, but it was the perfect amount of time, so it was all good.
On top of that, I still love my job. Really, really love my job. I'm thankful for it every day and felt guilty that I couldn't work past my normal quitting time because I had guests in town. I felt guilty because I like my work. That feels so good!
I was in a glow of goodness.
After Dad and my stepmom left, I went to dinner with some friends and it was amazing how fast that glow was shattered. Two sentences (maybe less) into my story about my idyllic family Fathers Day weekend one friend loses his temper at something I said. But instead of saying "sorry" like I normally do I actually stood up for myself, which just made it worse of course. And the rest of the evening was basically not the fun catchup dinner it was supposed to be and the golden glow I had about my visit was gone. No way I wanted to share it now, not if I was going to get yelled at.
We came to a truce, had a pleasant evening, but even then for some reason it seemed to be my fault the evening was ruined, even though it was someone else's bad behavior and hypocritical comments that had kind of sent things that direction.
So, no drama with the family, but drama with the friends.
That evening I couldn't get it out of my head, still can't. But last night I realized part of the success of one and failure of the other is that I have developed tools over the years to function in my family. Plus, as much of an ass as my dad can be, he can take as much as he dishes out, so if you're willing to stand up to him intelligently he's fine. I'd had three days of being able to hang out with a group of people who can tease and banter and give and take and it's EXPECTED that if you dish it out, you're gonna get some back. If you're gonna complain about someone being late then the next time everyone is waiting for you, you're going to hear about it. All in good fun because that's part of the art of good banter. But those are also the tools I have with my family.
With some of my friends, I don't have those same tools. I've let a codependent relationship develop where it's okay for me to be the butt of jokes but not okay me to dish it back. It's okay for them to play hooky from work but not okay for someone else to play hooky. I might be feeling a little under the weather, but it's not nearly as bad as what they're going through. Or, for some reason because I have a shell, smudge stick and mug on my bathroom shelf, I'm a packrat, even if I could fit all I own into a small Uhaul truck while they might have storage spaces, garages and rooms full of stuff they rarely even see, let alone use. I'm the one with the "artistic" temperament when they're the ones who throwing fits over the types of foods or materials that come near them. I might do the same to them. We project our fears and expectations on each other rather than seeing each other clearly.
That's an extreme description of several people and only from my own point of view. It's not always like that. And it's certainly not wrong for people to have their own perspectives or points of view. We aren't always so trapped in our own perspectives, but it goes there. And since I've been reading The New Codependency by Melody Beattie and rereading The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Han it struck me how I have gotten to the point, without realizing it, of needing tools to deal with my friends. I expected to need tools with my family. I didn't expect to need tools with my friends, so their remarks have stuck under my skin more than is necessary. I haven't had my boundaries up and at the ready when I should have.
So, last night when I was thinking over what I could have done or said differently to remedy or bypass the drama, I realized it would have been an Akido move - surrender to the blow and use the energy to come back in a detached and logical manner. I think, I don't know, that that would translate to letting my friend be angry, taking a deep breath, counting to 10 or 20 or 30, and then after he'd resumed a normal heart beat asked, "Why are you getting mad at me when you are obviously mad at someone else?" or "Why are you mad about someone doing something that you yourself have done many times and will do again many times more?" or "Why is this important to you? Why can't you allow for this without commandeering it for your own perspective?" "Why does anyone belong in a 'doghouse' when no one is at fault?"
But that's "couldawouldashoulda" or water under the bridge and I just need to release it and learn from it, and ultimately, understand that I need my tools for healthy interaction just as much with my friends as I do my family. And understand that when a friend is trapped in their own perspective or illusion of what life (their life, my life, someone else's life) should be, that I need to have patience with them so they'll have patience with me.
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Perspective
Perspective is important. Perspective is what tells you whether you have enough room to park. Perspective is what tells you when and when not to get involved in something. According to the Occupational Outlook Handbook I read in junior high, a writer has to have the same kind of perspective that a pilot has - deep and ready to make a decision in a split second. And then, a friend of mine has a quote, something to the effect that those with the biggest perspectives win. In other words, having a big enough perspective to allow others to have theirs.
I've been pondering perspective lately for several reasons. For one, I was in a tribe on tribe.net where we were discussing how to bring people back to tribe and what was considered troll-type behavior (that being a consideration in why some people left). Another reason was reading a review of scifi/fantasy work by a respected reviewer. Then, there's reading The New Codependency by Melody Beattie (boning up on my boundaries) and the rereading of The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh. And then, there's just the day-by-day spending of time with people who have a different perspective.
For example, on tribe we were discussing why people come to tribe. Personally, I go there because I've made friends I like to banter with. I like banter and repartee. I like fun and having a laugh. Technically, that's not a hobby, but for me it is. Why be here if you can't laugh and play? But, another person pointed out in the same discussion that she doesn't get enough serious conversations in her personal life and she comes to tribe just for the serious discussions. When people go off topic and get silly, it seriously bothers her. That was a perspective I had not bothered to consider before. I don't think that my perspective was wrong, but I can have more sympathy for her now that I know that.
Then, when I was reading the review of a sci/fi piece by a respected reviewer I was put off by it because he was dismissive of a writer who still believed that happy endings and high ideals in scifi (specifically YA sci/fi) are okay and good, and the reviewer, apparently, thought the views of the writer were anachronistic (I hate that term, but in this case - it's applicable). Personally, I think the reviewer's opinion is stupid and short-sighted, and I was ready to rip off a letter to him and then counted to ten and realized he's as entitled to his opinion as I am to mine. If he wants to cut his life short by being a "Douglas Downer" then that's not my problem.
Which takes me to the reading of the New Codependency and the Miracle of Mindfulness, which both reminded me I am not in charge of other people's opinions. I still get to have my own opinions and that's okay. That's one of the perks of living in these United States. I can have my own perspective - think Meg Whitman and Sarah Palin and Ann Coulter are embarrassments to womankind, for example, and that's my right. But, it's not my job to change someone else's mind. If they want to think those women are the trifecta of perfect womanhood, then that's their right.
So, I guess all this thinking of perspective brings me back to my yearly post on freedom of speech and thought. We each have a right to express our opinions — either online, in a letter to the editor, in a letter to our congressmen, or just in day-to-day interactions. That is our right. And it is equally the right of those around us to disagree with us. Yet, somehow, even when we disagree, we have to figure out how to live together and compromise with each other and allow others their different perspectives.
This isn't easy. It's easier to say "my way or the highway." But we live in a country where compromise and consensus is what keeps us going. Yes, we can really disagree with each other, really hard. And that's not wrong. But we have to allow for the other perspectives and eventually figure out how to have those disagreements and still peaceably share space with those that disagree with us.
We'll figure it out eventually. We always do. But this past week has reminded me that sometimes I just need to allow for those other perspectives, whether or not I agree with them — just acknowledge that they're there — and that's a step in the right direction.
I've been pondering perspective lately for several reasons. For one, I was in a tribe on tribe.net where we were discussing how to bring people back to tribe and what was considered troll-type behavior (that being a consideration in why some people left). Another reason was reading a review of scifi/fantasy work by a respected reviewer. Then, there's reading The New Codependency by Melody Beattie (boning up on my boundaries) and the rereading of The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh. And then, there's just the day-by-day spending of time with people who have a different perspective.
For example, on tribe we were discussing why people come to tribe. Personally, I go there because I've made friends I like to banter with. I like banter and repartee. I like fun and having a laugh. Technically, that's not a hobby, but for me it is. Why be here if you can't laugh and play? But, another person pointed out in the same discussion that she doesn't get enough serious conversations in her personal life and she comes to tribe just for the serious discussions. When people go off topic and get silly, it seriously bothers her. That was a perspective I had not bothered to consider before. I don't think that my perspective was wrong, but I can have more sympathy for her now that I know that.
Then, when I was reading the review of a sci/fi piece by a respected reviewer I was put off by it because he was dismissive of a writer who still believed that happy endings and high ideals in scifi (specifically YA sci/fi) are okay and good, and the reviewer, apparently, thought the views of the writer were anachronistic (I hate that term, but in this case - it's applicable). Personally, I think the reviewer's opinion is stupid and short-sighted, and I was ready to rip off a letter to him and then counted to ten and realized he's as entitled to his opinion as I am to mine. If he wants to cut his life short by being a "Douglas Downer" then that's not my problem.
Which takes me to the reading of the New Codependency and the Miracle of Mindfulness, which both reminded me I am not in charge of other people's opinions. I still get to have my own opinions and that's okay. That's one of the perks of living in these United States. I can have my own perspective - think Meg Whitman and Sarah Palin and Ann Coulter are embarrassments to womankind, for example, and that's my right. But, it's not my job to change someone else's mind. If they want to think those women are the trifecta of perfect womanhood, then that's their right.
So, I guess all this thinking of perspective brings me back to my yearly post on freedom of speech and thought. We each have a right to express our opinions — either online, in a letter to the editor, in a letter to our congressmen, or just in day-to-day interactions. That is our right. And it is equally the right of those around us to disagree with us. Yet, somehow, even when we disagree, we have to figure out how to live together and compromise with each other and allow others their different perspectives.
This isn't easy. It's easier to say "my way or the highway." But we live in a country where compromise and consensus is what keeps us going. Yes, we can really disagree with each other, really hard. And that's not wrong. But we have to allow for the other perspectives and eventually figure out how to have those disagreements and still peaceably share space with those that disagree with us.
We'll figure it out eventually. We always do. But this past week has reminded me that sometimes I just need to allow for those other perspectives, whether or not I agree with them — just acknowledge that they're there — and that's a step in the right direction.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Hope and Despair - Optimism and Pessimism: Finding Balance
Last week I had an astounding opportunity. I was phoned on Monday by a high school student who needed someone to interview for her career development project (her group is doing the career development project that is part of RoadTripNation.org). She and her group needed to interview someone who had followed their dream and also had some failures along the way (wow! sound familiar?). I had her email me more information on the project and her group (so I'd know what I was getting into) and by that evening we'd scheduled to meet Wednesday afternoon.
I spent the next day and a half wondering if I could clean up my language enough to speak with three young high school women, and if I'd be able to share enough with them to actually be of help to them. In figuring out what I wanted to say, writing up talking points, and contacting other freelancers who'd be willing to answer questions or at least let me share their websites with the girls, I came to the realization that I never had this opportunity. At their age my female role models included women from history books like Joan of Arc, Edith Cavell, Helen Keller and Elizabeth Blackwell. Other than that, there was my mom, who worked for a living. There were women I knew who were teachers. One of them, Madam Geri Van Zanten, I admired very much and dream about her still even after she passed away. And one friend from grade school had a mom who had been a model and tried to teach the neighborhood girls things like how to sit down properly, set the table, and give ourselves our own manicures.
But freelancers, businesswomen, artists, singers, writers? We didn't have those in our lives, that I remember. These young women have women in government, music, business and all over to look up to and emulate if they want. They don't just have a couple of movies on self-destructive artists who have to choose between "love" (or living within their man's definition of love) and their career - but women who have both family and career. Women on both sides of the political aisle, even, who have families, have had to battle cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, and have had not just one but two careers.
They have so much more to choose from and they found me and wanted to interview me. That is not just cool, it's, as some friends of mine used to say, hen hao cool.
So, I was a bit nervous making my way to the appointed Starbucks for the rendezvous. And halfway there I realized there was no way I knew that I would recognize them. What if this was like one of those bad internet set-up dates where I showed up and he saw who I was and just left without telling me? What if it was a joke?
Two hours of bus travel later (and about 10-15 minutes late - not a good example to begin with), I showed up at the Starbucks to see a table of high schoolers holding up a sign with my name on it. It was so exciting. We found a table outside where I sat on one side and the three young women sat on the other side and their friends filmed us as the young women asked me questions and I did my best to answer them without becoming Queen Non Sequitur. (I hope their friends were able to edit those bits out.)
We talked for a little over an hour. One woman wanted to be a writer, one an actress and one a veterinarian. I, we, talked about finding a good supportive group of friends to help keep you going, not allowing your own dreams to be subsumed by the dreams of the latest boyfriend, the importance of constantly learning (whether or not that happens in college), decision-making, the importance of making friends with accountants, staying away from emotional vampires, never giving up, keeping on at it, even when you make really bad mistakes, and understanding that your parents may not understand your dream, but they still love you. You just have to prove to them that you can have your dream and a stable life, too.
And when I was done I kept wondering if I'd told them enough. Had I told them the right things that would help them? Had I been clear enough? Had I honed in on the wrong things? I wanted so much to go back and say "and another thing...".
This last week since then has been nothing but one big, "and another thing....". As soon as I got back from my interview with the girls I found two rejections - one form (but a form that was written to SOUND personal, but hasn't been changed in like five years- :-P), and one that was personal and much more helpful (but a rejection nonetheless). I had to tell myself what I'd expounded to those young women - don't give up. Don't give up when your clients drag their feet in paying you. Don't give up when the rent check bounces and you're living on rice and mayonnaise. Don't give up when you see other people in your field zooming ahead of you and you have awful feelings of jealousy that you just can't seem to quash. Don't give up when the mean people seem to win and the nice people are left in agent/publication limbo. Don't give up when it feels like Rome is burning and you're wondering if it might be better after all to get a full-time brain-numbing retail job with at least a regular paycheck and health benefits.
Take a break, maybe. Reassess your goals, maybe (Are we really Pulitzer Prize-winning authors? Or are we best suited to writing fun action or romance stories meant to make people happy). But never give up.
I think I learned more this last week than I had any hope of teaching those girls. But I do hope that somehow some of what I said will help them follow their own dreams. And maybe they will help me follow mine.
I spent the next day and a half wondering if I could clean up my language enough to speak with three young high school women, and if I'd be able to share enough with them to actually be of help to them. In figuring out what I wanted to say, writing up talking points, and contacting other freelancers who'd be willing to answer questions or at least let me share their websites with the girls, I came to the realization that I never had this opportunity. At their age my female role models included women from history books like Joan of Arc, Edith Cavell, Helen Keller and Elizabeth Blackwell. Other than that, there was my mom, who worked for a living. There were women I knew who were teachers. One of them, Madam Geri Van Zanten, I admired very much and dream about her still even after she passed away. And one friend from grade school had a mom who had been a model and tried to teach the neighborhood girls things like how to sit down properly, set the table, and give ourselves our own manicures.
But freelancers, businesswomen, artists, singers, writers? We didn't have those in our lives, that I remember. These young women have women in government, music, business and all over to look up to and emulate if they want. They don't just have a couple of movies on self-destructive artists who have to choose between "love" (or living within their man's definition of love) and their career - but women who have both family and career. Women on both sides of the political aisle, even, who have families, have had to battle cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, and have had not just one but two careers.
They have so much more to choose from and they found me and wanted to interview me. That is not just cool, it's, as some friends of mine used to say, hen hao cool.
So, I was a bit nervous making my way to the appointed Starbucks for the rendezvous. And halfway there I realized there was no way I knew that I would recognize them. What if this was like one of those bad internet set-up dates where I showed up and he saw who I was and just left without telling me? What if it was a joke?
Two hours of bus travel later (and about 10-15 minutes late - not a good example to begin with), I showed up at the Starbucks to see a table of high schoolers holding up a sign with my name on it. It was so exciting. We found a table outside where I sat on one side and the three young women sat on the other side and their friends filmed us as the young women asked me questions and I did my best to answer them without becoming Queen Non Sequitur. (I hope their friends were able to edit those bits out.)
We talked for a little over an hour. One woman wanted to be a writer, one an actress and one a veterinarian. I, we, talked about finding a good supportive group of friends to help keep you going, not allowing your own dreams to be subsumed by the dreams of the latest boyfriend, the importance of constantly learning (whether or not that happens in college), decision-making, the importance of making friends with accountants, staying away from emotional vampires, never giving up, keeping on at it, even when you make really bad mistakes, and understanding that your parents may not understand your dream, but they still love you. You just have to prove to them that you can have your dream and a stable life, too.
And when I was done I kept wondering if I'd told them enough. Had I told them the right things that would help them? Had I been clear enough? Had I honed in on the wrong things? I wanted so much to go back and say "and another thing...".
This last week since then has been nothing but one big, "and another thing....". As soon as I got back from my interview with the girls I found two rejections - one form (but a form that was written to SOUND personal, but hasn't been changed in like five years- :-P), and one that was personal and much more helpful (but a rejection nonetheless). I had to tell myself what I'd expounded to those young women - don't give up. Don't give up when your clients drag their feet in paying you. Don't give up when the rent check bounces and you're living on rice and mayonnaise. Don't give up when you see other people in your field zooming ahead of you and you have awful feelings of jealousy that you just can't seem to quash. Don't give up when the mean people seem to win and the nice people are left in agent/publication limbo. Don't give up when it feels like Rome is burning and you're wondering if it might be better after all to get a full-time brain-numbing retail job with at least a regular paycheck and health benefits.
Take a break, maybe. Reassess your goals, maybe (Are we really Pulitzer Prize-winning authors? Or are we best suited to writing fun action or romance stories meant to make people happy). But never give up.
I think I learned more this last week than I had any hope of teaching those girls. But I do hope that somehow some of what I said will help them follow their own dreams. And maybe they will help me follow mine.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Friday Poetry Break
I have been going through some of my pieces recently, tweaking and revising some poetry, wondering about reviving work on a story or two I may have laid aside a while ago. Came across this poem I wrote - oh - a while ago - two-three years? Back in the days when I waited for the #10 for an hour each evening because they NEVER run on time. This was a familiar sight:
Anyway, ran across this poem and thought I would share it. I don't feel like this as much as I used to, but sometimes I still go there.
Liposuction in the City of Lost Dreams or
Beer on a Budget
Scalpel poised above –
emergency operation gots to be done!
STAT! ASAP!
I mean RIGHT NOW!
(How I hate those words.)
Infusion of hope prescribed ---
excision from this dreariness.
Soul sucking demands on a
dream-ridden, aged princess.
Credit? Cash? Coverage?
Give’r an aspirin and a bandage.
Maybe a beer ….
Maybe one or two –
A patch of anesthesia to see her through.
This is no great affliction.
And then?
Huge metal deathmonsters?
Prime property acquisition?
Class conscious status symbols
slapped on a gaping wound.
Addictive elitism stumbles on her crutches.
Ancient and treacherous,
near impossible to escape her clutches.
Staying afloat – don’t want to drown.
This is a bright and brittle
One-trick pony kind of town.
Life-rings are limited
to the wealthy and connected.
The rest --
are bound to be rejected.
Beer --
It will have to be beer.
Beer it is then.
by Rachel V. Olivier
Anyway, ran across this poem and thought I would share it. I don't feel like this as much as I used to, but sometimes I still go there.
Liposuction in the City of Lost Dreams or
Beer on a Budget
Scalpel poised above –
emergency operation gots to be done!
STAT! ASAP!
I mean RIGHT NOW!
(How I hate those words.)
Infusion of hope prescribed ---
excision from this dreariness.
Soul sucking demands on a
dream-ridden, aged princess.
Credit? Cash? Coverage?
Give’r an aspirin and a bandage.
Maybe a beer ….
Maybe one or two –
A patch of anesthesia to see her through.
This is no great affliction.
And then?
Huge metal deathmonsters?
Prime property acquisition?
Class conscious status symbols
slapped on a gaping wound.
Addictive elitism stumbles on her crutches.
Ancient and treacherous,
near impossible to escape her clutches.
Staying afloat – don’t want to drown.
This is a bright and brittle
One-trick pony kind of town.
Life-rings are limited
to the wealthy and connected.
The rest --
are bound to be rejected.
Beer --
It will have to be beer.
Beer it is then.
by Rachel V. Olivier
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Halfway Mark...is Time really that fluid?
Cross-posted elsewhere:
So, our June issue was delivered to the neighborhood on Friday morning.
We're constantly working a month ahead. A couple of the editors have two calendars by their desks - one for the current month and one for the next month. So, I'm used to thinking a month ahead for things, but suddenly now it feels like we've gone from January to June in the space of just a few heartbeats. How did it get to be the middle of the year so fast? Where did the time go? It just seems to keep marching along, paying no-nevermind to the rest of us.
It doesn't help that I have what a friend of mine calls a case of the ADOS's - or Attention Deficit OH SHINYs. I sit down to work on a story and end up doing a crossword or surfing tribe or Facebook. Yesterday we had our writers club meeting and Will, our president, pointed out that June marks the four year mark for our little club. FOUR YEARS. And we're already planning for what we're going to be doing in September (hopefully getting a table at the West Hollywood Bookfair - come by and visit us!).
So, on the one hand, I'm appalled at the time that flies by and how much I haven't achieved yet. Then, I have to remember basically what I posted last month, that eventually time goes by and milestones seem to just happen. And before you know it, things do get done after all.
Maybe Time is more fluid than I think.
So, our June issue was delivered to the neighborhood on Friday morning.
We're constantly working a month ahead. A couple of the editors have two calendars by their desks - one for the current month and one for the next month. So, I'm used to thinking a month ahead for things, but suddenly now it feels like we've gone from January to June in the space of just a few heartbeats. How did it get to be the middle of the year so fast? Where did the time go? It just seems to keep marching along, paying no-nevermind to the rest of us.
It doesn't help that I have what a friend of mine calls a case of the ADOS's - or Attention Deficit OH SHINYs. I sit down to work on a story and end up doing a crossword or surfing tribe or Facebook. Yesterday we had our writers club meeting and Will, our president, pointed out that June marks the four year mark for our little club. FOUR YEARS. And we're already planning for what we're going to be doing in September (hopefully getting a table at the West Hollywood Bookfair - come by and visit us!).
So, on the one hand, I'm appalled at the time that flies by and how much I haven't achieved yet. Then, I have to remember basically what I posted last month, that eventually time goes by and milestones seem to just happen. And before you know it, things do get done after all.
Maybe Time is more fluid than I think.
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