April 2010
22 posts
2 tags
I am not in a good place right now.
Nothing new
I’ve been working on finals and whatnot for school, so not much is going on for the creative front. But I do have some pictures from the craft fair where I sold my Donut Magazine. It’s completely self-published with stories, poems, and art by UNCW students. This issue’s theme was Glazed. :)
I formatted the magazine with InDesign. It was a lot of fun.
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Me: I'm going to apply to the Denver University Publishing institute next summer.
Him: ...
Me: Your cousin knows a guy up there with a huge house willing to let me stay.
Him [wimpers]: You might not come back.
Me: Why wouldn't I?
4 tags
Scrap paper 4
He takes in the smoke and the fire glows brighter for an instant. His palm cups his chin; his fingers spread across his mouth.The cigarette is nestled between the soft flesh of his fingers and the soft, wet flesh of his lips. His eyes are closed. His mind lights up with the excitement of yet another substance. And the smoke seeps out of his nose.
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What we are supposed to do.: 95. →
She is difficult to stir. Little is found exciting. Making her come is trying to light ash on fire. We do that familiar thing for a half hour or so and when I think we are finished I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. She unsticks her skin from mine and the weight shifts on the mattress as she…
Just found out what RSS feeds are.
I’m a little behind on that one.
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Scrap paper 3
She doesn’t enjoy being touched. She doesn’t like anything that reminds her she has a human female body—dancing, showers, sex. Her screams are as unearthly as she wishes she were.
iWant aMac
Yesterday I played with my Tumblr (does that sound dirty to anyone else?) in the Publishing Laboratory on one of the 25 or so Macs they have there. After a while, I realized that, while looking at the dash, I hadn’t been clicking Next Page, Next Page… I know this is an old improvement, but one that only works on Macs. And I have Mac envy now. I want a Mac. Down with this PC.
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Scrap paper 2
A janitor working at an elementary school who gives the students who smile at him fruit roll-ups from his pockets—re-stocked daily.
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Every Free Moment:
The title to the previously anonymous anthology. We uploaded the whole shebang of the thang to the printer last week. And now we wait.
The good news: my type treatment was used for the cover, and I designed much of the back cover.
The better news: I had a great team to work with on the anthology. Everyone pulled his and her own weight (in gold) and we have a product to be proud of.
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Scrap paper 1
A woman who likes getting hurt so other people will take care of her. They treat her differently then. She craves that attention. She begins to hurt herself. People begin to leave her to her pain.
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Pomp and Funeral Parlors, part 3
ut I’m here for a viewing, so I take a few tentative steps toward her. With each step, the carpet eventually envelopes my flip-flops and tickles my feet. With each step, I see a bigger sliver of Aunt Francis: the tip of her nose, the protruding brow, the sunken cheeks, the bony hands clasping a cloth rose atop her wasted waist. She is wearing a pale green night gown with lace trimming and shiny...
March 2010
14 posts
More Awesome Book Covers →
6 tags
Anon. Anthology
Us PubLab (Publishing Laboratory) kids have to upload the entire anthology to the printer by 5 on Tuesday. This anthology is filled with stories and poems by kids in their senior seminar course, and we have taken them, edited, formatted, and designed the interior pages of the book. What we haven’t got is the title and cover design. That is, the attention-getters, the sexy part of the book;...
ramble.
jenna2step:
We moved through the fog and you had the light held towards the front so I could only see your outline and I think that’s how it is with people sometimes, just feeling their outsides and not knowing what fills them, what makes them. I can understand what you think, but I want to know what caused it, childhood secrets and traumatic events, the beauty of a history full of words and...
What we are supposed to do: 88. →
I paint it beneath a bare bulb, and for a few hours I am a flat red tide pushing across a many-cornered landscape. The lungs inside me rise and empty in rhythm with the broad strokes of the camel-haired brush. Occasionally fat-bellied moths land in the sticky red plain and I fingernail-pluck them…
[thisislife]: XXIX →
If we had ever seen a man grow wings, we would not call it a beautiful thing. We would not sing hymns to the sky that he might fly through, or praise this creature’s brilliant blooming. For we have not seen the parting of the smooth skin. We have not seen the ravaging of the flesh as feathers…
Sadly, there will be no fiction from me tonight. Tumbr is being slow and I have to edit a ton tonight. I can’t wait till the week is over.
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V E R A V I L L E: Failing to Keep it Real →
I feel bad for actors. Not professional actors, but people who don’t know how to be genuine. I’m really tired of people who would prefer to perhaps visualize some ideal bullshit version of a human and transform themselves into that person before your eyes, rather than be real.
At first they fool…
I feel bad for people like me, too. It’s hard to let my guard down much of the time....
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Pomp and Funeral Parlors, part 2
ith my gracious demeanor shining from my eyes, I ask an old woman with white hair where I can view Miss Francis. She ushers me toward a man with a solemn smile who will show the way, but not before consciously placing her hand on my back in case I need comfort. I thank her and she bustles off, ready for her weekend to begin. Whether or not she spends it with the dead, I can’t say.
The man...
Pomp and Funeral Parlors
Part 1
uneral homes have always seemed more inconsequential than consoling. You get assigned a specific room, sectioned off from rooms with other dead people for their focal points, just like grim cubicles. The carpet is always too thick and the couches lining the room always have mismatched floral patterns. Sometimes, people who hardly knew the deceased come to offer their condolences to the...
I'm bad at this
I’m not a good blogger. But my goal for this blog is not to get you or anyone else to like me or what I write. It is to find a voice in my writing. Something all my own. Something I can manipulate into anything I want it to be.
So, I’m going to try to post some scrap of fiction once a day. And I’ll see where that takes me from there.
To do this weekend:
Re-do Scenes assignment
Work on Scenes essay
Edit stories/poems for Donut
Write story for Donut
Come up with thesis and outline for Film
Go to the grocery store
Clean the house/laundry
Don’t get sick
