Monday, February 6, 2012

We mean what we say.

There aren't a lot of poems now
that've avoided being written.
From birds and bees
to death and trees
it's all been sorely beaten.

Around and round the mulberry bush
from London to the bay.
Every powerful prose
and bleeding rose
has made it to the page.

So a writer now is left with none
but topics much compiled.
All good prayers've been said
and such lines have been read
that us crafters are left with the bile.

But if we're going to take the time right now
to lament the old clichés.
Like good grapes in a bunch
or that wine with your lunch
Truth in writing is enjoyed by the case.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Look, yes, I know I've been putting this one off for a while.

Here's the thing; for the most part, I like to live in a state of suspended reality. Yeah, that sounds weird and wacky, or maybe even cliché, but the truth of the matter is, you can only hold on so tight in this crazy written word world before the past, i.e. every blog post from last year, will inevitably come back to haunt you. Or, at the very least, and in this case specifically, will have to be acknowledged every time I log in. But you just have to embrace it. If you run from it, or don't log in at all, you'll fail to absorb all the embarrassment that the Good Lord put there for a reason; you won't learn anything. If you pretend like it never existed, or clean out older posts -that more reflect the writer you were than the writer you are- you'll be skipping out on the enjoyment that comes from reflecting on everything you've learned. You are better. And always will continue to become so. Shying away from that, from what was true for you yesterday, only robs you, and everyone else, from facing the actual and beautiful reality of the situation; who you’ve become today. Of course, this line of reason goes for almost anything, but with the steady stream of date stamps that Blogger puts on all our posts, it's especially pertinent here. All I’m really trying to say is, I'm going to leave up all my old posts, forever, no matter how embarrassing I find them, and the evolution of a writer will forever be plain to see, or search, or read, for all who care to look, until death do us part. Yes, let's get overdramatic here, because, at the end of the day, we have serious things to worry about, like the abomination Katy Perry and Tim Tebow are inevitably going to bring into the world, so why not learn and grow and shiver with shame, and laugh at ourselves together, here where, as I've determinedly stated, things are completely permanent and suspended just enough to comfortably admit how lame we were, and joyfully move on with haste.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Cedardale Court's 2012 ABNA Contest Entry

Full of daring fools, haunting old flames, and burgeoning with panicked villainy, Cedardale Court captures the final days of Canner Connelly’s ten year struggle; his quiet avoidance of death. Despite his best efforts, and a well-intentioned move to the Oregon countryside, the safety and peace-of-mind he’s longed for, since the passing of his wife, for him and his daughter, Chloe, finally appears to be within reach. But, upon waking the next morning, the promising start at Uncle Henry’s falls rather short as the sun comes up over the tree line, and the ever inept inhabitants of Cedardale Court begin to start their days. A domestic dispute, a little reckless driving, and a broken fire hydrant later, what normally would have been a very enjoyable Sunday quickly turns into a slightly darker affair as a severed human hand, well, half of one really, turns up in Uncle Henry’s front yard. Things only get messier and more frightfully uncertain as, one by one, the secrets that have been so carefully kept, for so very long, start to unravel for everyone. For Canner and Chloe, amidst the drunkenness, burgling, kidnapping, extortions and murders of the people around them, suddenly it’s no longer a struggle to maintain normalcy, or an attempt to deny the familiar ghosts that lurk around every corner; it becomes a question of whether or not any of them will come out of this with their wits about them, or if they’ll even make it out at all. In the face of the monstrously absurd, the truth is that this little neighborhood, this absolutely out of control cul-de-sac, might serve as the key to opening the door for Canner and Chloe’s new life. Or, it might be exactly what it appears to be, the gateway to the undoing of them all.

We're only allowed the entry of a 300 word blurb, and this blurb will be the sole judging criteria of the first 2 rounds. Please, if you feel that an improvement can be made, even if it's just a comma somewhere, comment and let me know what you'd like to see changed. All and any input will be appreciated. Be as dark and critical as you like. It will only help the process. Also, this is exactly 300 words.