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Monthly Archives: October 2012

NaNoWriMo

31 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Fiction

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Illicit Congress, NaNoWriMo

Tomorrow marks the beginning of National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, as it is playfully nicknamed.  The premise is that if you commit to write 1,667 words a day for a month, you’ll end up with 50,000 words and a first draft of a novel.

I’m going to do it!  Along with over 200,000 other writers worldwide.

Do I know what I’m doing?  Not really.  But I’ve got a rough idea.  And thanks to the incredibly talented Jim Carroll, I have a provocative image that I’ll be using as inspiration:

Photo by Jim Carroll. Model(s): Caytie Matthews.

I know that the novel will be set in a college library and center around a young librarian named Dorothy Watson.  I will be publishing my writing for the month here on my blog, so stay tuned!

Find out more about NaNoWriMo here.  And wish me luck!

The plaster face.

30 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Fiction, Uncategorized

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dreams, Whidbey, writing

The dream is always the same.  I start by clenching the carabiner.  I am already halfway  up the steep rock face.  I gasp.  I don’t rock climb, this isn’t me, what am I doing here?!  It clicks that this is a dream.

I carefully continue my ascent.  I find upper body strength I did not know I possessed.  Higher and higher.  The sun beats down, but it’s also windy.

Two thirds up the face, I discover super-human speed.  My arms and legs sprout sinews and climbing suddenly becomes second nature.  My climbing crescendos and I am nearly at the top when I see you.

You reach out your left had, smiling.  Slowly, I reach out with my right hand, but as soon as I make contact, you disintegrate into a grotesque confetti.  I am horrified.

I try to find hand holds and foot holds, but now what once were rocks are now paper mache, plaster and sea foam candy.

I grab harder, but the more force I exert, the more quickly the landscape disappears.  And then I am falling mercilessly backwards.

This is how the dream ends.  I wake up as though I have fallen into my bed.  I check to make sure I am in one piece and slow my breathing.

My fingertips taste sugary and I turn to tell you my dream.

But, of course, the bed is empty.

 

This flash fiction prompt came from the Whidbey Island Writers Association: http://www.nila.edu/wiwa/word_well/

How I Picked the Oboe

24 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

band, childhood, music

 

Asymmetrical haircuts

remind me

of Janice Stone,

my 6th grade band teacher.

At the end of

5th grade,

Ms. Stone

came into our class

right side of her head shaved

gradually descending

into a cascade

of tight kinky curls

on the left.

She met with students

interested in joining band class

one by one.

On the small desk

in the narrow hallway

various mouthpieces

and reeds

were splayed in front of her

a garden

of musical possibilities.

Most of the girls

already knew

they wanted to play

the flute or clarinet.

But I sat down assertively

and said

“I want to play the weirdest instrument.”

She smiled and said,

“I think you’d like the oboe.”

In the beginning,

five of us started with the oboe.

By mid-fall, I was the only one left.

I loved the oboe.

It came easily.

It was loud

and important.

Ms. Stone played

tuba and the bassoon.

She gave me weekly lessons

all through middle school.

Towards the end,

we would just play duets

as if she had nothing more

to teach me,

she just wanted to play with me

to share the joy

of double-reeded-ness

and harmony.

 

I still want to play the

weirdest, most important

LOUDEST

instrument.

Now, it’s my voice.

I need lessons

on how to refine it

amplify it

and believe in it.

Where is Ms. Stone when I need her?

Probably marching in some band

proudly playing tuba.

Marching distinctly

to the beat of her own drum.

One side of her head a bit colder

than the other.

Finding Freud

23 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

NPR, Whidbey, women, writing

Washington State Poet Laureate Kathleen Flenniken answers questions at the Coupeville Library.

Tonight, I got to hear Kathleen Flenniken read poetry at the Coupeville Library.  Her last poem was entitled “Coyote” and played on the two pronunciations of the word.  Which triggered this poem for me:

Finding Freud

My buoyant 10-year old self

loves to hear the sound

of her own voice.

She will read anything

out loud.

The insides of slick CD inserts,

chapters in textbooks,

synopses of television programs

found beneath the nightly

schedule in the newspaper.

Her mother is inundated

with menus of summer camps

for precocious children.

Most outside of the price range

of possibility.

10-year old me

reads these brochures out loud

to get a taste

of where her hungry mind

might go.

In a description of a class

about psychology

she sounds out “Free-oode”

(instead of Freud.)

Her mother muffles laughter,

then guffaws.

10-year old me

stops in her tracks.

Her voice crumbles.

She smiles sheepishly,

goes to her room

pretending to have homework.

***

Three years later,

I win a contest

to be a guest announcer

on a quiz show

broadcast

on Public Radio International.

I practice privately.

My mother

makes me read the script

out loud to her.

I comply begrudgingly.

The flawless end is in sight

except for tripping

on Ter-kelle.

Studs Terkelle.

My mother gently corrects

my mispronunciation.

Her eyes are kind.

“Terkel.  Studs Terkel.”

***

Oral or aural history,

it doesn’t matter

there will be these inevitable slips.

Push past them

to find greater resonance.

Every girl’s voice

deserves amplification.

Youth is not a handicap.

Gender should not be used

as a plunger mute

to surpress the timbre

of trumpeting.

Sharon Needles and Honey Boo Boo Front-Runners in Presidential Race

22 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Fiction

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debates, Honey Boo Boo, humor, RuPaul's Drag Race

 

In a surprising turn of events, it was recently announced that the Gore & Glitz ticket of Sharon Needles and Honey Boo Boo has recently surpassed both President Obama and former governor Mitt Romney in the polls.

“I can’t say I’m really surprised,” said Ms. Needles, “America wants a change, and I’m just the corpse to give it to them.”  Winner of the 4th season of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Ms. Needles proved her political acumen in an episode entitled “Frock the Vote.”  It was there that her slogan of “Sharon Needles: Sharing Responsibilities” was born.

Her running mate is Alana Thompson, better known as Honey Boo Boo.  Ms. Thompson’s reality television show surpassed both the Democratic and Republican National Conventions in ratings earlier in the race.  Honey Boo Boo has tested extremely well with rural voters and plans focus her campaign efforts strengthening these ties in the fifteen days before the election.

“I’m kind of disappointed that I won’t win a crown,” she said at a press conference earlier today, “But I am looking forward to redecorating the white house with pink and lots of glitter.”

Both President Obama and Mr. Romney were unavailable for comment on this clear upset to their respective campaigns.  One thing remains clear: it’s a close race and all votes are needed.

Ode to Nylons

21 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

humor, women, writing

Gird your loins

and dress your wounds

before returning to battle.

Cushion your high heels

with orthopedic inserts.

Wrap pinky toes

in neutral bandages.

Approach the cellophane

package of death

with great caution.

Each fingernail and toenail

must be filed down

to harmlessness.

All hangnails,

exterminated.

Carefully, cut

the nylons free

from their

cellophane prison

and

c

a

r

e

f

u

l

l

y

point your right toe

with the grace

of a prima ballerina

and gingerly insert it

into the taupe-colored

cocoon

of elasticized fabric.

Point

and roll

point

and roll

inch by inch

up over the knee

gradually overcoming

the thick thigh.

Intermission.

Repeat with left

toe, calf, knee and thigh.

Stand up.

Roll the tummy-control panel

UP UP UP.

Shimmy and jump,

Shimmy and jump.

Return to sitting.

Pinch any extraneous fabric

with the meticulous nature

of an archeologist

removing dust

from a relic.

Move that extra fabric

up

from ankle

past knee

through thigh.

Repeat for left leg.

Stand again.

Wiggle and jump

Wiggle and jump.

Apply anti-static cling spray

generously

(be careful NOT to inhale.)

Now you may put on your dress

and heels.

Now that your nylons are properly applied.

(Be optimistic,

but keep clear nail polish in your purse

in case of inevitable runs.)

The minute I did it I knew I was in trouble…

20 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Hedgebrook Virtual Writing Group

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Tags

breakups, Whidbey

 

The minute I did it I knew I was in trouble. This is not how it was supposed to go down.  I had ordered a vintage postcard that said: “A lobster I am and always will be, But won’t you have pity and please marry me?” I was going to wait until our one year anniversary or second Christmas or some landmark relationship milepost and with some ceremony present it to him.  We had talked about getting married and having kids.  We had even talked about some names.  But recently, he had started to show some reservations about the relationship, concerns that we were “too different,” were at “different” places in our life journey.  He started to drop hints that it wasn’t going to work out like Hansel and Gretel dropped bread crumbs.  But I was oblivious–I thought he was kidding or that I could fix it.  And it wouldn’t be until weeks later, after he broke up with me, that he would tell me he had started seeing someone else.  This happens everyday, but it was a grotesque revelation that it could happen to me.  One day, your partner wakes up, runs into a woman he knew in high school and decides that she would be better, or easier, or whatever he decides that makes him start plotting his exit strategy.  I could feel that I was losing traction in the relationship and in a moment of desperation, I riffled through my closet and brought out the postcard to show him.  With my Midwestern naïveté, I showed him the vintage postcard and looked up into his eyes hopefully.  That postcard symbolized my commitment–he would see it and remember the best of the relationship and stay.  Instead he looked uncertain, uneasy, uncomfortable.  In retrospect, in that moment, he knew for sure he was going to leave.  He mumbled something about “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” changed the subject, and we somehow made love and fell asleep.  One of our last nights together.  If I hadn’t shown him the postcard, might it have extended our last days?  Probably not.  But the minute I did it I knew I was in trouble.

No Poems in Indiana

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

humor, Whidbey, writing

Every month, Whidbey Island Arts Council hosts poetry slams!  I’ve been to a couple and they are always lots of fun.  Jim Freeman is the master of ceremonies and awards each participant fabulous prizes.  Find out about more upcoming slams here.

This is my offering from tonight:

No Poems in Indiana:

There are no poems left

in Indiana.

Aging bureaucrats

boxed them up

and shipped them

to antique stores

in Ohio, Michigan

and Illinois.

High school

English textbooks,

once dreaded

for their weight

and length

are much more

manageable.

Now they only

hold prose and

end-of-chapter quizzes.

You may no longer

wax poetic

as you sip

your golden

forthy pint–

instead

you are haunted by inadequate nature

of a lengthy narrative

or the clunky form

of a short story

or 500 word essay.

Some haikus have

made their way

back to Indiana.

Virtuous fugatives,

they hide in haystacks

or behind highway markers

and travel on the

hooves of cows.

Families go on summer vacation

to visit poems in other states

these literary sight-seeing

excursions are not known

for their longevity.

Children read poems

then quickly cross

state lines,

trying desperately

to keep stanzas

in their memory,

the lingering imagery

dancing through their

cerebral cortex

like lightning bugs or constellations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Feeble Foothold on Fashion

16 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Blast from the Past

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fashion, humor, school, shoes, Wisconsin

Middle school is a hell like none other.  If you survive it with minimal scar tissue, you are probably prepared for the worst life has to throw at you.

For sixth grade picture day, I came dressed in a button-down light denim shirt three sizes too big with a rhinestone applique in the shape of a cat.  In that picture, with my coke bottle glasses, snaggle-teeth, and uneven bangs, I am smiling.  A huge grin.  Totally oblivious to the awkwardness, pain and humiliation the next three years will hold.

The previous summer, my family had taken a vacation to a small town in northern Wisconsin.  We visited a store that sold Native American novelties and apparel.  And I insisted on getting a pair of blue fringed moccasins.  They were shoes more that slippers and appeared to possess enough structural integrity to fall into the category of “school shoes.”

I thought these moccasins were the most amazing pair of shoes I had ever seen in my life.  Surely, these were the kind of shoes to which Elvis referred when he sang “Don’t step on my blue suede shoes.”

At that age, I had a very simplistic view of fashion.  You should have enough comfortable clothing to get you through five school days, one day of going to the movies and playing mini golf with your dad, and one nicer outfit for church.  This added up to seven outfits.

Why anyone would want more than seven outfits was beyond me.  It wasn’t until much later, when I really got into acting, that I realized having an abundant and versatile wardrobe might be desirable.

Also working into my “fashion math” was the supposition that a person only needed two pairs of shoes: one for everyday wear and one for gym class.

Luckily, these blue moccasins were fancy enough (in my eyes) to be Sunday dress-up shoes, thus negating the need for a third, unnecessary pair.

My classmates were perplexed.  Why hadn’t I opted for sneakers that lit up or shoes that sparkled?

I walked around the school with all the swagger my little eleven year old prepubescent body could muster.  I wore the blue moccasins every day.  Until one day I overheard a conversation between two pink headband-ed girls.

“Why does Katie wear those weird blue shoes every day?”

“Because she’s poor.”

I was crushed.  How could the blue moccasins have led me astray?

I came home that afternoon determined to fix the situation.  I promptly informed my mother that I would need new shoes.  ASAP.  We didn’t have a lot of money to spare, but she took me to thrift store.  Upon our arrival, I saw them: sea foam green Reebok sneakers.

How I could I have been so foolish?!  Forget the blue moccasins.  They had been a red herring.  Here, this, these sea foam green sneakers were the answer to my prayers. (Although they would necessitate that third pair of dress shoes for church.  Eventually.)

I paraded around the halls gallantly in my “new” shoes.  I even insisted on painting a chair in my bedroom the exact same color.  When the man at Home Depot asked what paint color we wanted, I lifted my leg in the air, waving my sneaker in his face.  With Honey Boo Boo-like enthusiasm, I triumphantly proclaimed. “I want the paint to match my shoes!”

Some time later, I was informed that Reeboks were not cool and I should replace the sneakers with Nikes.  I can’t recall my reaction.  I was probably re-crushed, paralyzed by a fear that I would never procure the correct footwear.

Sixteen years later, I’m not sure if I’ve gotten much better at conventional fashion.  Most days, I favor wearing purple Crocs.  (Because they’re comfortable, because I have to walk from the train to work and back…)  But I’ve come to realize that the most important rule of fashion is:

If it makes you feel fabulous, wear it, and enjoy wearing it.

There will always be people who don’t care for blue moccasins or sea foam green sneakers or purple crocs.  You can simply remind these naysayers that they don’t have to wear them.

We are all the designers of our own life and fashion.  To paraphrase Tim Gunn: Make it work! (for you!)

Body Type:

15 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Dating, Poetry

≈ 3 Comments

 

I am indecisive.

I think I’m “average,”

but maybe I’m

“statuesque”?

“About average?”

“A few extra pounds”

seems like a death sentence.

I settle on “curvy.”

Why can’t there

be a choice

that says:

“I’m me, I’m awesome,

and how much I weigh

should not be a

dealbreaker in deciding

whether or not

you want to

have drinks with me.” ?

 

I wonder what percentage

of couples meet through

online dating.

 

I would like to believe

that there are a decent amount

of couples

who still meet

at parties,

in coffeeshops,

and simply

turning around

a very specific

corner.

I still believe

in love at first sight,

true love

and soul mates.

No amount of

heartbreak

will convince me otherwise.

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