A poet I am not but nonetheless I have written one anyway. Writing takes my abused emotions and turns them into triumph. How I have missed you, my muse.
Autoimmune
by A.E. Noble
A fool you are.
I cause you pain and disappear like the morning mist in sunlight whenever you seek out those with the white coats.
A fool you are.
Your cloudy mind is my friend. I love it as you love to sleep from my evils.
You are like a two year old who has skipped his nap. Ah, yes. Just the way I like you. The white coats ask you questions about me but you can not remember the key to their riddles. And thus they stay ignorant of my ways.
A fool you are.
You worry for your money clip. He shrinks ever smaller as the bills roll in from the white coats.
You visit them less and less. You are afraid. What if they tell you your deepest and darkest fear? The one you speak to no one. That your brain has tricked you, too.
A fool you are.
Your worry for your job as I increase your exhaustion. You press the buttons and pray the one you call boss accepts your many excuses. And I laugh at you. Why, you ask? Hahahaha! Your worry has caused a black desolation with you. The hopelessness continues as the blackness within causes more pain and fatigue.
A fool you are, I say. For you do not know yourself as well as I.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Curious Thoughts
Why is it every person you know wins when they go to the casino but the casinos are making hand over fist?
Why is it nobody speeds but the state rakes in thousands in speeding ticket fees?
Why is it one person thinks your manuscript is 98 out of 100 and one thinks it's 79 out of 100?
Well, I can't answer any of those questions but it does make you think. Maybe it doesn't matter so much what your score is in a particular contest as much as it matters who is giving the score. It's not the one person that matters but who that one person is that matters. After all, twenty people can hate your work but one editor, one agent, one published author can make all the difference in the world.
Why is it nobody thinks you can make it until you do?
Why is it nobody speeds but the state rakes in thousands in speeding ticket fees?
Why is it one person thinks your manuscript is 98 out of 100 and one thinks it's 79 out of 100?
Well, I can't answer any of those questions but it does make you think. Maybe it doesn't matter so much what your score is in a particular contest as much as it matters who is giving the score. It's not the one person that matters but who that one person is that matters. After all, twenty people can hate your work but one editor, one agent, one published author can make all the difference in the world.
Why is it nobody thinks you can make it until you do?
Friday, January 14, 2011
Do you enjoy it or do you fake it?
Everybody does it. They fake it, too. Don't let them kid you.
They have their minds on the grammar, the critiques they have yet to return, the critique they received that makes them want to cry. You know, everyday writers thoughts. But do they enjoy it? Do you even know you are missing the good stuff?
I admit it. I've been faking it and without realizing I was. When writing becomes a job, as it should with all serious writers, the writing itself can become a rush. Push yourself, rush, rush to the end. Faster, faster! Do you NaNo? Do you JaNo? How many words did you write today?
It's good. That nudge that reminds you that you need to write. Everyday. Every single way you can. Even if it's crap. But what about the enjoyment? Isn't that why we started it all?
So today, right now, remember to add the spice of happiness when you write. This is what you love.
They have their minds on the grammar, the critiques they have yet to return, the critique they received that makes them want to cry. You know, everyday writers thoughts. But do they enjoy it? Do you even know you are missing the good stuff?
I admit it. I've been faking it and without realizing I was. When writing becomes a job, as it should with all serious writers, the writing itself can become a rush. Push yourself, rush, rush to the end. Faster, faster! Do you NaNo? Do you JaNo? How many words did you write today?
It's good. That nudge that reminds you that you need to write. Everyday. Every single way you can. Even if it's crap. But what about the enjoyment? Isn't that why we started it all?
So today, right now, remember to add the spice of happiness when you write. This is what you love.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Writing and Life
Writing is my life. Okay, yeah so I WISH writing was my life. It's tough to find the time to do those things we love. We must make sure we find something that is ours and ours alone. Otherwise, how will we manage to still be ourselves in ten years? That push and pull between mom, employee, wife and friend doesn't leave much room for our own wants and needs. But it must. Fight for it. Take it. Play dirty if it means grabbing ten minutes to do something for yourself. So today, I'm throwin' sand and elbows. Today, writing is my life.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Love and MRIs
Yeah, yeah. I know. MRI is not exactly the word you were expecting to go with love. Recently, a extreme claustrophobic woman was tortured with three whole hours of her life inside an MRI machine. Of course, I'm the claustrophobic woman.
But what you don't know is my husband, the workaholic, took unpaid time off work. That in itself is a huge gesture for him but then he did something I will never forget. He talked about non-sense and work or whatever came to his mind so I could keep my ass in that machine.
He talked about two guys hugging at work and made me laugh when he said, "Men don't hug at work." He told me, "You got this one. It's a breeze." He asked me questions and then answered them himself. He held my hand and squeezed it, knowing exactly what I needed. What he didn't tell me? He didn't say he loved me, but then...he didn't have to.
But what you don't know is my husband, the workaholic, took unpaid time off work. That in itself is a huge gesture for him but then he did something I will never forget. He talked about non-sense and work or whatever came to his mind so I could keep my ass in that machine.
He talked about two guys hugging at work and made me laugh when he said, "Men don't hug at work." He told me, "You got this one. It's a breeze." He asked me questions and then answered them himself. He held my hand and squeezed it, knowing exactly what I needed. What he didn't tell me? He didn't say he loved me, but then...he didn't have to.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Inner Bitch
My inner bitch tried to take over today. It was a fierce battle but I finally won out. The war? Well, it is yet to be determined.
The struggle did make me wonder why I felt like ripping off my husband's head and stuffing it down his throat. A little soul searching made me realize it had to do with the morning's events and my family's ability to cut into my writing time. I love them, don't get me wrong. I mean it! No really! And I'm not always a bitch. But today? Well today I wanted to write. I wanted to sink into my story and let the words flow from my fingertips like wine from the bottle.
Parent-teacher conferences have kept the previous night's writing jam session from becoming a reality but I kept the inner bitch at bay by reminding myself. "You can write in the morning. It's no big deal." Hence the bitch battle. *Sigh*
Life is always getting in the way but for those of us who write to publish, the daily battle to squeeze out a little writing time can be exhausting. So take your caffeine hit and give yourself a few minutes at midnight or bolt the door from the inside and ignore the screaming kids outside the door for ten minutes. Right? Okay, okay. So maybe not ignoring the screaming kids but definitely hit the video store and keep them occupied if only for a few minutes. We need to keep fighting for the time.
For me? Well, I dream of being home alone and ignoring the laundry. Where's my white knight who closes the door while saying, "Don't worry about it honey. I'll get the laundry, the dishes, the kids and the bills." His eyebrows raise. "You just make sure you thank me later."
The struggle did make me wonder why I felt like ripping off my husband's head and stuffing it down his throat. A little soul searching made me realize it had to do with the morning's events and my family's ability to cut into my writing time. I love them, don't get me wrong. I mean it! No really! And I'm not always a bitch. But today? Well today I wanted to write. I wanted to sink into my story and let the words flow from my fingertips like wine from the bottle.
Parent-teacher conferences have kept the previous night's writing jam session from becoming a reality but I kept the inner bitch at bay by reminding myself. "You can write in the morning. It's no big deal." Hence the bitch battle. *Sigh*
Life is always getting in the way but for those of us who write to publish, the daily battle to squeeze out a little writing time can be exhausting. So take your caffeine hit and give yourself a few minutes at midnight or bolt the door from the inside and ignore the screaming kids outside the door for ten minutes. Right? Okay, okay. So maybe not ignoring the screaming kids but definitely hit the video store and keep them occupied if only for a few minutes. We need to keep fighting for the time.
For me? Well, I dream of being home alone and ignoring the laundry. Where's my white knight who closes the door while saying, "Don't worry about it honey. I'll get the laundry, the dishes, the kids and the bills." His eyebrows raise. "You just make sure you thank me later."
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Is this total crap or what?
My husband and I have a deal. He lies to me when I ask him questions about the size of my ass and I lie to him when he asks me how the finances are going. But when it comes to my writing I need a real opinion. I can't ask my girlfriends. They are fantastic, amazing ladies but they would tell me it's great and I would always wonder if they were just trying not to hurt my feelings. To hell with my feelings! Tell me the truth! So I asked my husband to give me an honest opinion. I know, I know. A dangerous proposition to be sure but I steamed full ahead, willing to take the chance. Interestingly enough he didn't love it or gush over it. He thought the suspense part was great but wanted me to keep the mushy parts to a minimum. Duh. Why did I think my alpha male type husband would like a romance? A critique group is your best bet for finding that tactfully honest person. The one whom you can ask your question. "Is this total crap or what?"
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