I lucked out with a three day weekend that just happens to be Memorial weekend. This morning, I woke up without an alarm, which was glorious, but that’s where my relaxation ended. Once I was awake all I could think about was all the things I should get done with my free time. I should clean out the refrigerator, go grocery shopping, finish one of seven books I’m reading and on and on. I don’t know when I started feeling guilty about doing absolutely nothing. Am I alone in this?
Except, it’s not a forest — It’s just a section of the Reed College Canyon, a little oasis in the middle of southeast Portland. She has the day off and it’s not raining, which is an omen, so she takes the dog and her iPhone into the woods. She can’t hear the birdsong over Flo-Rida, but she imagines it’s beautiful. The dog tugs her along the trail, sniffing and chewing the tall grass.
It’s been a few months since she came down here. Then, it was cold and wet in the middle of Winter, but still green. Now, it’s obvious even to her, a city-slicker, that spring has touched this place. Small flowers of purple and white crowd together, moss covers fallen logs, bugs flit around her head and she pretends not to care. Every few steps the light hits the creek and shines in such a way that would look perfect on Instagram.
The thing about most autobiographical nonfiction is that the narrator is rarely alone. There are always other people and because nonfiction is, in theory, based on reality, those other people exist. And so when I wrote “Eve” it was hard for not me to wonder if my ex-boyfriend would every see it or wonder how he would feel about it. The truth is if I think too hard about who or what I’m writing about I probably wouldn’t write it.
But anyways, I’m excited to have this piece published at Nailed magazine and I’m excited that the first thing I published of nonfiction is so damn bold.
- Late evenings of beer and dancing in wedged heels
- Eating McDonald’s or any kind of fast food
- Not reading or watching the news
- Wearing uncomfortable clothing
- Avoiding uncomfortable conversations
- Finishing a book that bores me
- Keeping quiet when bigots, racists or idiots share their opinions
- Staying in one-sided relationships
- Stopping my car-dancing because people can see me
- Not writing for my blog. (my bad)
I don’t know when I let poetry slip away from me. Or rather, I let myself slip away from poetry, but like most things that are at our cores, poetry was not done with me. I signed up as a PoMoSco — best explained by the folks who started it.
PoMoSco — short for Poetry Month Scouts — is the Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month project. This April, 213 poets representing 43 states and 12 countries are joining together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
If you’d like to follow my month-long journey in found poetry, just follow your nose.
Last Saturday we spent two and half hours in the Verizon store. We’d gone in to see if we could upgrade TJ’s phone, which for a year had been saved only by the Otterbox protecting it. It was a beautiful day, over 50 degrees by 10 am and we’d plans to drive to the coast. Continue reading
I can’t be the only one jazzed about the summer. And not because of the weather, or how it brings people outside or how much more acceptable it is to drink in public. I’m ready for the movies: the good, the bad, and the ridiculous.
Age of Ultron
Someone once said to me “All those Avengers/Thor/Captain America movies are exactly the same.” Continue reading