This year's Christmas tree is a little bit different, thanks to snow and freakin' cold temps that daunted even the most determined of the tree cutters (me and Dad.)
So, with a little creativity and Charlie Brown Spirit, here is my solution.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas Tree!
This year's Christmas tree is a little bit different, thanks to snow and freakin' cold temps that daunted even the most determined of the tree cutters (me and Dad.)
So, with a little creativity and Charlie Brown Spirit, here is my solution.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Oh Sylvia
I just finished reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath and can make an excellent case for skipping the introductions that are mostly babble. The intro compared The Bell Jar to The Catcher in the Rye, (and we all know my thoughts on that piece of work), and said they were twins. Thank goodness I didn't let that stop me because I really enjoyed The Bell Jar. It is in no way the twin of that other book because A: something happens in The Bell Jar, B: it's well written, and C: it was written for different generations and yet it effected me without the need of any outside validation or justification. If the two books are at all related, Catcher is a sad little step child to The Bell Jar.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Great Rye Debate...
I got into a discussion this weekend about the 'greatness' of The Catcher in the Rye and here's where I stand (which I realize is in a lonely spot, but I'm still here):
if a book needs an explanation or validation - "you need to understand that when it was written this was groundbreaking" - because it doesn't hold up on its own through the ages, I don't think it's so great. Many people thought it was a great book then, but I don't think it has survived the test of time so well, unlike other books that were written then or long before that still move readers today, like: Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn, Atlas Shrugged, The Awakening, Gone With the Wind, The Scarlet Letter, The Great Gatsby - just to name a few classics. Most of the above were indeed dissected in school, but I enjoy reading them all - for fun. Yes, I said it! I enjoy reading and look for books that take me somewhere, involve me with the characters, move me in some way. I read Catcher in the Rye to see what all the hoopla was about, and at the end, I was still waiting for the hoopla. And when I was given the 'explanations' for all the hoopla, my response was 'oh. I still don't like it.'
Jackson Pollack did a similar thing. Groundbreaking style that hadn't been done before, (unless another artist's pet monkey had done something similar but the artist just didn't think the public would go for it, and now isn't he kicking himself - and the monkey), but without the name attached, now it's just splatter paint. Unlike Van Gogh who did a different style - that the public did not go for at the time, ironic - and now generations recognize the talent that my monkey certainly cannot master, no matter how hard we practice.
Anyway, my question should anyone care to answer is, if you need to explain the work - literature or art - does it deserve to share a shelf - or wall - with the classics?
Friday, November 20, 2009
One down...
I did it! Exactly 5 years after the intial inspiration for the Asparagus Revival while sitting in the airport in Seoul, South Korea, I have a complete first draft of both the inner and outer stories! I am determined that the second draft won't take nearly as long, due to my new found discipline for writing every day for at least 15 minutes. I haven't missed a day since January - even on vacation, and being sick enough to draft a will - except for Halloween. But I worked on the book at 8:00 the next morning after only 4 hours of sleep, so that's gotta count for something.
Well, here's to fleshing the story out and getting it to a point where I am happy to let others see it.
Well, here's to fleshing the story out and getting it to a point where I am happy to let others see it.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Regular People
So sorry for the long absence. I have been: road tripping to both grandma's, working and working, making Bee Bags, going to weddings, working, trying to be social, making more bags, working, and going to seminars on starting up websites - for the Bee Bags. Coming soon!
During all of that hubbub, I have been thinking about regular people. I don't consider myself a people person, I get frustrated easily with general idiocy and rudeness, and the crazy nasty things that regular people seem to do to each other on a regular basis - as the news would have us believe. But then, on the road trip home from my Indiana Grandma's, my dad and I were listening to The Unthinkable, Who Survives And Why When Disaster Strikes, which is a fascinating book all about the mindsets of people in disasters, and how it's the regular people in crises that turn out to be heroes while we're all waiting for the professionals.
In the website seminar this morning, one of the speakers was talking about the blogger who cooked through Julia Child's recipe book, and the speaker mentioned in passing that someone mentioned Julia to a writer at the New York Times. A regular person set a huge ball rolling. How many times does that happen with regular people, and half the time, no one is able to track the motion back. Who fired the shot that started the civil war? A regular, trigger happy guy whose name is lost to the history books.
And this morning I was sitting in City O' City, a neat little cafe/bar/restaurant in Denver, and their walls have tasteful collections of photo portraits of what looks like a random mix of people from all over the city. Looking from face to face, it's fascinating to see how much personality shows through in one small shot, how much their hair, hat, makeup or piercings can tell about a person. Regular people. I think there might have been 5 in the whole place that a talent agent MIGHT have picked out for modeling or film. But there were numbers of interesting looking people, with interesting stories.
And I realized regular people aren't so bad. I write about them. And - go figure - I'm one of them!
I want to go back to City O' City to see those photos, and get another mocha like the one I had this morning. And so that I can take a picture of the heart-shape in my mocha foam that inspired the following:
Signs
Mocha this morning,
topped with foamy white love
crowning the cup of
steamy, rich, inspiration.
The passion cooled, the cup
drained
and I saw
the shape had changed.
Two large white cheeks,
a long dark crack
riding the dregs,
unmistakable.
"Butt, I thought it was love!"
KEH
During all of that hubbub, I have been thinking about regular people. I don't consider myself a people person, I get frustrated easily with general idiocy and rudeness, and the crazy nasty things that regular people seem to do to each other on a regular basis - as the news would have us believe. But then, on the road trip home from my Indiana Grandma's, my dad and I were listening to The Unthinkable, Who Survives And Why When Disaster Strikes, which is a fascinating book all about the mindsets of people in disasters, and how it's the regular people in crises that turn out to be heroes while we're all waiting for the professionals.
In the website seminar this morning, one of the speakers was talking about the blogger who cooked through Julia Child's recipe book, and the speaker mentioned in passing that someone mentioned Julia to a writer at the New York Times. A regular person set a huge ball rolling. How many times does that happen with regular people, and half the time, no one is able to track the motion back. Who fired the shot that started the civil war? A regular, trigger happy guy whose name is lost to the history books.
And this morning I was sitting in City O' City, a neat little cafe/bar/restaurant in Denver, and their walls have tasteful collections of photo portraits of what looks like a random mix of people from all over the city. Looking from face to face, it's fascinating to see how much personality shows through in one small shot, how much their hair, hat, makeup or piercings can tell about a person. Regular people. I think there might have been 5 in the whole place that a talent agent MIGHT have picked out for modeling or film. But there were numbers of interesting looking people, with interesting stories.
And I realized regular people aren't so bad. I write about them. And - go figure - I'm one of them!
I want to go back to City O' City to see those photos, and get another mocha like the one I had this morning. And so that I can take a picture of the heart-shape in my mocha foam that inspired the following:
Signs
Mocha this morning,
topped with foamy white love
crowning the cup of
steamy, rich, inspiration.
The passion cooled, the cup
drained
and I saw
the shape had changed.
Two large white cheeks,
a long dark crack
riding the dregs,
unmistakable.
"Butt, I thought it was love!"
KEH
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Full Moons
Just a little whimsy I got while driving home one night under the full moon.
Full Moon Tonight
(Howl.)
He's hiding in the clouds
like a child with a flashlight
under the covers.
That doesn't diminish the pull he has,
the ruckus he's causing,
all inner turmoil
verging on meltdown.
The days are really not
that bad.
But when he comes out,
in full dress,
looking to cause trouble,
my optimistic front
dissolves.
I am tired.
He prods, what else?
So the list gets longer
the burdens bigger
the trials so much more
tumultous,
and I am reduced
to that child under the bed clothes
hiding with my flashlight,
murmuring I want, I want, I want -
and trying to decide just what.
-KEH
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Cookie Monsters
It has taken me so long to get on here because there is something going on with my computer cookies. Apparently they are taken care of now...who knows, I sure don't, and now I can post. So...
New purses!One is Bee Wild and the other was...Bee Classy, I think. Pictures of Bee Green and Bee Bright are coming soon. And I have a new customer - she's 11. I said I'd be thrilled to make her a purse as long as she has her parent's permission to spend all her allowance on a purse. As soon as I finish posting here, down I'll go to start working away.
And I have a new poem for you.
My Book
has wine stains on it,
dye on the bottom,
a muddy hue
seeping up yellow
reaching for the words
like a sunrise.
My book
was wading in wine,
something I long to do.
Feel the grapes pulse
and burst
under the balls of my feet,
the juice washes up between
my toes, flossing
and rinsing the grit and grime
collected in my days
away from grapes.
Bathing in sweet dark juices,
grown to please.
My book has pages
soaked in pleasure.
KEH
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Camera One, or Camera Two
I thought I was done with the rough draft of Wild Aspargus, the inner story to The Asparagus Revival that I've been working on. But I realized that I wasn't so passionate about the story any more, so how could I expect anyone else to get jazzed about the book either? Rather than trying to patch it up in a crazed editing spree, I decided to just start all over, completely from scratch and rewrite the thing. And that's what I've been doing and I like it SO much better. Now I want to see what you think. Here's the first page of the first version:
In a small house that smelled of beeswax, earth and baked sugar, a plump old woman sang to herself while she worked on a pie crust, creasing the edges into heart shapes.
Out the back door, the creek rippled out a rhythm, the birds in the willow tree sang in harmony, and the scandalous red sheets on the line between the willow and the house danced a flamenco. Granny Bea creased and pressed the dough into curves and hearts along the edge of the pie plate. She laughed wholeheartedly at some memory that flitted through her memory like a butterfly on vacation, smiling lovingly as she worked the memory into the crease, and then slowly, with a concentration that stilled her fingers and the breeze from the willow, Granny Bea dripped three tears into the center of the pie crust. She sprinkled sugar over the moist spot and continued to sing:
Granny Bea’s infamous wild asparagus pies had smoothed over many lover’s tiffs, warmed countless cold feet before the wedding day, and rekindled bonfires out of the cold, dusty ashes of her neighbor’s marriages. Her pies were also outstanding for cheering up the occasional gloomy mood, temper or common cold. Granny Bea had fixed all sorts of ailments, but few were willing to chalk up the magic concoction to asparagus pie of all things. Perhaps it was just Granny Bea’s magic ways, or something in the milk she’d serve with the pie. They’d sit in her cozy kitchen at her giant table and scour the room for any hint of a cauldron, unusual herbs or jars of strange powders. They scanned the tiles she had sealed in the splashboard behind her countertops, in which she’d etched her best recipes, poems and bits of wisdom, looking for a recipe with any hint of a dragonfly wing, or frog’s tongue. None of them seemed to notice that the recipe for wild asparagus pie wasn’t up there, but then who would look for magic in wild asparagus?
And the second, rewritten - both unedited.
There was a willow. And a line that stretched from the great grandmother tree to the house with red sheets dancing a flamenco. The top half of the Dutch door opened wide into a kitchedn that smelled of gingersnaps out of the oven. And the old woman at the counter hummed as she made a pie. Her hair was combed back into a French twist, and there were flour handprints on the behind of her navy blue skirt. To watch her, one might think this was any old woman, making any old pie, in any old kitchen.
But this was Granny Bea, making her special wild asparagus pie, in her kitchen where magic was known to reside.
Granny Bea had a bakery in town which she stocked with brownies and pastries, tarts and breads and buns that had the town salivating just moving in the shop’s general direction, which was on the north end of Main Street. But customers and friends could not get her wild asparagus pies in the bakery. Those pies were served up by invitation only, reserved for special causes.
The brownies were good for hay fever. The tarts for tiresome temperaments of all sorts. The peach pastries usually preceded a small wish coming true. And the glazed donuts worked wonders on bunions, warts and corns.
But the asparagus pies - their specialty was love. Whether it was love lost, love worn out, too much love or not enough, unrequited or unrealized, the wild asparagus pies were cupid’s own pastry of choice.
Thoughts?
In a small house that smelled of beeswax, earth and baked sugar, a plump old woman sang to herself while she worked on a pie crust, creasing the edges into heart shapes.
Out the back door, the creek rippled out a rhythm, the birds in the willow tree sang in harmony, and the scandalous red sheets on the line between the willow and the house danced a flamenco. Granny Bea creased and pressed the dough into curves and hearts along the edge of the pie plate. She laughed wholeheartedly at some memory that flitted through her memory like a butterfly on vacation, smiling lovingly as she worked the memory into the crease, and then slowly, with a concentration that stilled her fingers and the breeze from the willow, Granny Bea dripped three tears into the center of the pie crust. She sprinkled sugar over the moist spot and continued to sing:
Granny Bea’s infamous wild asparagus pies had smoothed over many lover’s tiffs, warmed countless cold feet before the wedding day, and rekindled bonfires out of the cold, dusty ashes of her neighbor’s marriages. Her pies were also outstanding for cheering up the occasional gloomy mood, temper or common cold. Granny Bea had fixed all sorts of ailments, but few were willing to chalk up the magic concoction to asparagus pie of all things. Perhaps it was just Granny Bea’s magic ways, or something in the milk she’d serve with the pie. They’d sit in her cozy kitchen at her giant table and scour the room for any hint of a cauldron, unusual herbs or jars of strange powders. They scanned the tiles she had sealed in the splashboard behind her countertops, in which she’d etched her best recipes, poems and bits of wisdom, looking for a recipe with any hint of a dragonfly wing, or frog’s tongue. None of them seemed to notice that the recipe for wild asparagus pie wasn’t up there, but then who would look for magic in wild asparagus?
And the second, rewritten - both unedited.
There was a willow. And a line that stretched from the great grandmother tree to the house with red sheets dancing a flamenco. The top half of the Dutch door opened wide into a kitchedn that smelled of gingersnaps out of the oven. And the old woman at the counter hummed as she made a pie. Her hair was combed back into a French twist, and there were flour handprints on the behind of her navy blue skirt. To watch her, one might think this was any old woman, making any old pie, in any old kitchen.
But this was Granny Bea, making her special wild asparagus pie, in her kitchen where magic was known to reside.
Granny Bea had a bakery in town which she stocked with brownies and pastries, tarts and breads and buns that had the town salivating just moving in the shop’s general direction, which was on the north end of Main Street. But customers and friends could not get her wild asparagus pies in the bakery. Those pies were served up by invitation only, reserved for special causes.
The brownies were good for hay fever. The tarts for tiresome temperaments of all sorts. The peach pastries usually preceded a small wish coming true. And the glazed donuts worked wonders on bunions, warts and corns.
But the asparagus pies - their specialty was love. Whether it was love lost, love worn out, too much love or not enough, unrequited or unrealized, the wild asparagus pies were cupid’s own pastry of choice.
Thoughts?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Bee....Sophisticated
I have another purse to show...and don't get too excited, it's already spoken for. Not to worry though, more are on their way.
This morning I laid in bed for three hours finishing a book, and cryed my eyes out too. I can't remember the last time I read a book that lost track of time for me and emptied my tear ducts. And go figure - it was The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares. I don't care what age it's supposed to be for - I hope my own writing will move people of any age like that. Speaking of...
I've decided as of this morning to rewrite the inner story of the Asparagus Revival. Wild Asparagus needs to be in a different voice than the rest of the story as it's supposed to be written by a mister Sam Grady, and I decided the best way to go about that is to rewrite it. So here goes!
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Little Vacation
I've been in Indiana all week visting family and my grandmother in particular who is not doing well at all. If only we didn't need these pesky hips. When I break mine, I hope it's doing a saucy salsa or running from a mountain lion, something adventurous.
So I'm back and have another purse to show...but I'll be posting pictures later, of my purse and the sweet black kitty that befriended Mom and I while in Indiana. I'm about to sign off to finish typing the rest of the novel that I have written in longhand. I feel like the what I have now of the novel is the pencil sketch. Soon I'll be outlining it in ink, and then I'll add the color and dimensions. At least that's how I feel it's working, not necessarily how I intended it to go. This is the longest I have worked on any project, and the longest any project has been. I'm in uncharted territory and it has been an adventure figuring out how to make it into a real story. It's like raising a child (I imagine), in that I thought I knew how to do it because so many have done it before me, but turns out I don't have a clue! And I'm just bumbling along, doing the best I can and hoping it won't hate me when it's a teenager.
I am enjoying the ride though. And at least with this child, I don't have to deal with diapers.
So I'm back and have another purse to show...but I'll be posting pictures later, of my purse and the sweet black kitty that befriended Mom and I while in Indiana. I'm about to sign off to finish typing the rest of the novel that I have written in longhand. I feel like the what I have now of the novel is the pencil sketch. Soon I'll be outlining it in ink, and then I'll add the color and dimensions. At least that's how I feel it's working, not necessarily how I intended it to go. This is the longest I have worked on any project, and the longest any project has been. I'm in uncharted territory and it has been an adventure figuring out how to make it into a real story. It's like raising a child (I imagine), in that I thought I knew how to do it because so many have done it before me, but turns out I don't have a clue! And I'm just bumbling along, doing the best I can and hoping it won't hate me when it's a teenager.
I am enjoying the ride though. And at least with this child, I don't have to deal with diapers.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Now what am I doing?
I'm still working on that novel; I axed Ruby and Elliot and then decided I liked a couple of their moments together too much so I brought them back with a little bit of a makeover. And I've got to figure out what everyone is wearing, because not only does it help solidify the date of the story, but it may be more interesting than assuming they're wearing something rather than wandering around neked. Or, maybe not.
But my new adventure is making purses! I'm embracing the entrepreneurial spirit and designing and making these fabulous things. I sold my first one this last Thursday and have colleagues at work asking for their own, as well as holiday orders. I'm very excited! Now I just have to get production down to a reasonable time and I'll be set! Take a look! I'll let you all in on some of the novel in a little bit.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I did it!
As of this morning, I have completed the first full rough draft of my novel,
The Asparagus Revival. I've been prancing around the house - yes, prancing - with the attitude of "There's nothing I can't do!" Let's hope that attitude follows me into the editing process. Hooray for magical 15 minute moments, days off of work and Mom's rhubarb pie for breakfast which all made this possible.
As for the fortune cookie story - I'm thinking short story and more of that will be coming soon.
The Asparagus Revival. I've been prancing around the house - yes, prancing - with the attitude of "There's nothing I can't do!" Let's hope that attitude follows me into the editing process. Hooray for magical 15 minute moments, days off of work and Mom's rhubarb pie for breakfast which all made this possible.
As for the fortune cookie story - I'm thinking short story and more of that will be coming soon.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Three Openings
I started a writing class last Monday on stories and so far - out of the two Monday night classes so far, it's been fun. Not at all like the bogus workshops I suffered through in college where we were graded on how much we could 'constructively' tear each other's work to shreds. I'm actually getting something useful out of this class.
For last night's assignment we had to write three different openings to the same story, or to three different stories. Here are mine:
1.
"You are entering a time of great promise and overdue rewards." Allison crunched the fortune cookie and smiled. Ever since she had ditched the unreliable horoscopes and moved to fortune cookies for her daily compass, she had felt that she was more and more on the right track. Except for that one that had said "Your doubts should disappear early this month." Well, she shrugged, in every batch of apples there'll be a rotten one.
2.
Allison smiled at the receptionist and looked at the clock again. She had been 10 minutes early for the interview, and now Mr. Ephram was 15 minutes late. She rummaged through her purse, finding a mint and a fortune cookie from yesterday's lunch. Allison popped the mint and cracked the cookie, letting the pieces fall into her purse as she read, "There is yet time for you to take a different path."
3.
Allison looked up at the climbing wall from her indentation on the mat. Her fingers were blistered, her will to go on - climbing - dented and bruised, and ther faith in the fortune cookie slipping. Her last fortune had said "Now is the time to enjoy trying something new." But pottery had been a flop, hot yoga was a hot mess, nothing but dandilions grew from her gardening endeavors and now rock climbing had been a complete failiure. And she had an awful wedgie. She had cracked open another cookie yesterday and the fortune read "there is yet time to take a different path." She sighed and wiggled out of her harness.
Which do you like best?
For last night's assignment we had to write three different openings to the same story, or to three different stories. Here are mine:
1.
"You are entering a time of great promise and overdue rewards." Allison crunched the fortune cookie and smiled. Ever since she had ditched the unreliable horoscopes and moved to fortune cookies for her daily compass, she had felt that she was more and more on the right track. Except for that one that had said "Your doubts should disappear early this month." Well, she shrugged, in every batch of apples there'll be a rotten one.
2.
Allison smiled at the receptionist and looked at the clock again. She had been 10 minutes early for the interview, and now Mr. Ephram was 15 minutes late. She rummaged through her purse, finding a mint and a fortune cookie from yesterday's lunch. Allison popped the mint and cracked the cookie, letting the pieces fall into her purse as she read, "There is yet time for you to take a different path."
3.
Allison looked up at the climbing wall from her indentation on the mat. Her fingers were blistered, her will to go on - climbing - dented and bruised, and ther faith in the fortune cookie slipping. Her last fortune had said "Now is the time to enjoy trying something new." But pottery had been a flop, hot yoga was a hot mess, nothing but dandilions grew from her gardening endeavors and now rock climbing had been a complete failiure. And she had an awful wedgie. She had cracked open another cookie yesterday and the fortune read "there is yet time to take a different path." She sighed and wiggled out of her harness.
Which do you like best?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Give or Take
It was kindly pointed out to me that my 50 word story actually has 51 words! Woops! And I decided to change it a little anyway, but thanks for the encouragement Stephanie.
So here's the revised version and the one I'm going to send out, because it is indeed 50 words.
It is said that a butterfly flapping his wings on one side of the world causes a hurricane on the other. Buddha, in all his rotund wisdom, grew worried. "Oh! I waved to Grandma this morning!" Buddha exhaled a big belly sigh, and on the other side of the world...
So here's the revised version and the one I'm going to send out, because it is indeed 50 words.
It is said that a butterfly flapping his wings on one side of the world causes a hurricane on the other. Buddha, in all his rotund wisdom, grew worried. "Oh! I waved to Grandma this morning!" Buddha exhaled a big belly sigh, and on the other side of the world...
Friday, March 27, 2009
50 Words
My mom told me about a fiction contest for a story that is no more and no less than 50 words. 50 words is not much. So here's the story that I will be submitting:
Breezes
By Kelly Hayes
"It's true, your holiness. I heard the white man say: butterfy flap his wings here, make hurricane on other side of the world." If the breeze from a butterfly's wings could do that, what about birds? What about an eagle? Buddha let out a big belly sigh and across the world...
Breezes
By Kelly Hayes
"It's true, your holiness. I heard the white man say: butterfy flap his wings here, make hurricane on other side of the world." If the breeze from a butterfly's wings could do that, what about birds? What about an eagle? Buddha let out a big belly sigh and across the world...
Sunday, March 22, 2009
What's Your Favorite Vegetable?
On Friday I was out at an elementary school all day for their enrichment day. I was playing my Great Savings Race with 3rd graders and after determining that more than a few of the 3rd grade boys are saving for Ferraris and Lamborginis (I can't spell that but neither can they!) I headed to the bathroom for a quick break. In the child sized stalls ( I couldn't find the teacher's bathroom) I was doing my thing when I heard a litte voice from a few stalls over - "Are you a 3rd grader or a 5th grader?"
I'm an adult.
"Oh. What's your skin color."
White.
"What's your favorite fruit?"
Watermelon - which actually it's a toss up between cherries, peaches and watermelon but I was under pressure!
"What's your favorite vegetable?"
Peas! I got that one right.
At this point we have both emerged from our stalls to wash our hands and there is this teeny 3rd grader going on about asparagus and isn't it just the greatest vegetable in the world? Can you count asparagus as a vegetable? I said I think we could and she gave me the biggest grin like I'd just said I have a plateful for her right there in my purse. She was a little fashion diva with her winter scarf tied around her butt and dragging on the ground and she chatted up asparagus with me all the way back to our classrooms - all the while sashaying like that scarf was the most brilliant fashion idea anyone has ever come up with and she was the first to think of it.
A few days before that, I was playing a credit game with some 18 yr old boys who were about to be out in the big wide world on their own. When I explained one of the latest credit card fraud scams to them, one of the boys said "well that's a bowl of F*%$." I have never heard it put more accurately or eloquently.
This is how I get to spend my days!
I'm an adult.
"Oh. What's your skin color."
White.
"What's your favorite fruit?"
Watermelon - which actually it's a toss up between cherries, peaches and watermelon but I was under pressure!
"What's your favorite vegetable?"
Peas! I got that one right.
At this point we have both emerged from our stalls to wash our hands and there is this teeny 3rd grader going on about asparagus and isn't it just the greatest vegetable in the world? Can you count asparagus as a vegetable? I said I think we could and she gave me the biggest grin like I'd just said I have a plateful for her right there in my purse. She was a little fashion diva with her winter scarf tied around her butt and dragging on the ground and she chatted up asparagus with me all the way back to our classrooms - all the while sashaying like that scarf was the most brilliant fashion idea anyone has ever come up with and she was the first to think of it.
A few days before that, I was playing a credit game with some 18 yr old boys who were about to be out in the big wide world on their own. When I explained one of the latest credit card fraud scams to them, one of the boys said "well that's a bowl of F*%$." I have never heard it put more accurately or eloquently.
This is how I get to spend my days!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I'm Free!
I have been wandering around my house in seventh heaven all week. My roommate moved out and I am going it on my own! I can leave the dishes in the sink if I want to - and I do - my shoes are by the garage door - Uh oh! - and I can sleep in or wake up and vaccuume nekid at 6 am if I want. Oh the possibilities! But seriously, I'm loving being on my own. It's not lonely at all and I am happy as a clam.
Now, if only I could find the right paint color in all those cans in the garage to do touch ups in my new guest room. (I have a guest room!!) I did touch-ups last night with a big "what the - ? Crap." because it definitely was not the right color.
Still writing 15 minutes! This is record breaking for me!
Now, if only I could find the right paint color in all those cans in the garage to do touch ups in my new guest room. (I have a guest room!!) I did touch-ups last night with a big "what the - ? Crap." because it definitely was not the right color.
Still writing 15 minutes! This is record breaking for me!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Happy Belated Birthday!
A little shout-out to Stephanie, Happy Birthday, I hope it was wonderful!
Busy busy things going on - still writing for 15 minutes every day! I even took my notebook to my Mom's women's retreat this last weekend and still managed to get in my 15 min. despite the silly stringing bandits and short sheeters. These older women put me to shame with their jokes and energy!
I'm starting Dinner For Six this weekend, so I may have a lot more writing material after that. And I am losing a roommate this weekend. She's going to her space, I will have mine and I am so excited!! I may be finding out new and wonderful recipes for Ramen noodles more often than not, but it will be worth it!! At least I'll have the Dinner For Six to get me one real meal a month.
Hooray for freedom, adventures, and forging on with writing! Oh, and happy birthdays!
Busy busy things going on - still writing for 15 minutes every day! I even took my notebook to my Mom's women's retreat this last weekend and still managed to get in my 15 min. despite the silly stringing bandits and short sheeters. These older women put me to shame with their jokes and energy!
I'm starting Dinner For Six this weekend, so I may have a lot more writing material after that. And I am losing a roommate this weekend. She's going to her space, I will have mine and I am so excited!! I may be finding out new and wonderful recipes for Ramen noodles more often than not, but it will be worth it!! At least I'll have the Dinner For Six to get me one real meal a month.
Hooray for freedom, adventures, and forging on with writing! Oh, and happy birthdays!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Chesch!
That's 'hi', spelled phoneticaly, in Polish. Way back in 2003 I had a litte jaunt teaching English as a foreign language in good 'ol Poland and had a great time. I'm still in touch with Jan (Yan), one of my students, and he sends me updates of his family and I do the same. He made the following card for me on my last day with photoshop and inside he'd printed a poem I'd shared with the class. Please note - I was not pregnant - not even with delicious pierogies, I'm holding a waterbottle and papers.
The Sailor’s Soul
By Kelly Hayes
A sailor’s soul
a wandering heart
two tired feet besides.
Restless dreams
in lonely beds
a pair of open eyes.
A rambling way
a flowing urge
no home for man or child.
No destination
no home port
no chance to tame the wild.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Just Ducky
A little while ago(and by that I mean August)I was thinking about the phrase, 'get your ducks in a row' and out of that came this little poem, just for fun.
One duck, two duck, three duck go!
Slowly floating my ducks in a row.
House duck, job duck, money duck rock!
The love duck's flying around the block.
Goal duck, dream duck, wish duck blow!
Plenty of wishing weeds do grow.
Friend duck, home duck, happy duck hey!
Ducks rowing up and on my way.
Well, the ducks have changed their flying patterns recently, and by patterns I mean...scattered to the winds!!
So the poem now reads like this:
One duck, two duck, three duck four,
Home duck's stressed a little more.
friend ducks - love duck out of sight,
gusty winds have changed their flight.
Job duck's fine but feeling snappy,
health duck's been a little crappy.
Money duck, family duck, writing duck, whew!
At least those three know what to do!
It sounds like my life, or ducks, are falling apart...but really, I think my ducks have always been a little schizophrenic, I just need to put out a little extra-yummy duck food and threaten them with Barbara Streisand songs to get them back in line. Bring out the big guns Kelly!
One duck, two duck, three duck go!
Slowly floating my ducks in a row.
House duck, job duck, money duck rock!
The love duck's flying around the block.
Goal duck, dream duck, wish duck blow!
Plenty of wishing weeds do grow.
Friend duck, home duck, happy duck hey!
Ducks rowing up and on my way.
Well, the ducks have changed their flying patterns recently, and by patterns I mean...scattered to the winds!!
So the poem now reads like this:
One duck, two duck, three duck four,
Home duck's stressed a little more.
friend ducks - love duck out of sight,
gusty winds have changed their flight.
Job duck's fine but feeling snappy,
health duck's been a little crappy.
Money duck, family duck, writing duck, whew!
At least those three know what to do!
It sounds like my life, or ducks, are falling apart...but really, I think my ducks have always been a little schizophrenic, I just need to put out a little extra-yummy duck food and threaten them with Barbara Streisand songs to get them back in line. Bring out the big guns Kelly!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The 15 Minute Novel
It's working! I'm going on my third week of writing for 15 minutes every day. I write before I go to bed, and even some nights when it has been A DAY and I am exhausted, I still pluck up to write because "it's ONLY 15 minutes" and "I can't break the streak now." So this novel that I started writing 5 years ago...very sporadically mind you - may actually come to fruition in 15 minute spurts! Whatever works I guess.
Meanwhile, on the home front, it is snowing, I'm drinking tea out of my Dancing Bunnies Pot and gearing up for a 15 minute session to spruce up my latest short story, Crickets, before I send it off to the 2009 Unknown Writers Contest at www.denverwomanspressclub.org.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Very cool website
Before I head off to the land of the rising sun, I've been checking out other writer's blogs and websites and came upon this one. I'm very impressed and inspired and also want to go get her book, now that I've seen her site. That's one successful website. It also has fun recipes...Stephanie, you might want to check it out too.
www.rosekent.com
www.rosekent.com
Newsflash!!! Writing is a job!
Who knew?
I know I'm a little slow on the uptake, but it is finally dawning on me how much work being a writer/author is. From doing the actual writing, to researching editors and publishers, not to mention agents, to the publishing/editing process, to then marketing and promoting my own book, booking book talks and signings at schools, libraries, bookstores - getting my name out there in a blog or website...sheesh!!
But the first step is acceptance and now that I'm able to wrap my head around the reality of the situation - thanks to reading the articles in the Children's Writers and Illustrator's Writer's Market book - I am readjusting my belt and going for it. I feel like I'm at my first day of my third job. First two jobs - full time Outreach Coordinator teaching financial literacy to kids. I get to make money and boring economics fun. Second job, part time teacher at a language school teaching English to adults. And now for my third job...I feel like I need a new pencil case or something.
Amazingly, it's the simplest tip that has helped me dive headfirst back into the writing mode. I've got an egg timer by my bed and have been setting it for 15 minutes when I get into bed and write for 15 minutes every night. That doesn't sound like much can get accomplished, but so far I've just been writing up the character outlines for The Asparagus Revival and what a difference those 15 minutes have made! Granny Bea is a complex woman! And I haven't even gotten to her background story of how she learned to make magic asparagus pies. And isn't it intereting that the antagonist of the story is the one I most see myself in, there's a therapy session somewhere in there I'm sure.
But overall, with these 15 min. sessions have flipped a creative switch in me and I am seeing inspiration, ideas and character details everywhere! There aren't enough 15 min. segments in the day to take care of all of them!
I'm thinking I need to add some software to my savings wishlist - Dragon Naturally Speaking. I heard about it at a workshop and it's supposed to allow you to speak your writing to the computer and it types it all in. Hmmmmm. I wonder if it knows how to spell flibberty jibbit. Do I know how to spell flibberty jibbit?
Off to work on my Lazy J animal ranch story. I think Mexico is going to take a back seat to Japan so I'm off to the land of the rising sun.
I leave you with another poem that I sent off to The Iowa Review. Enjoy.
Midnight Pie
By Kelly Hayes
The grandfather
clock is sleeping,
unlike the pair of us,
Grammy and I,
scrounging in the kitchen
for cherry pie,
sweet cherry filling
for the hole left gaping,
even after words,
flowers and goodbyes.
As we crumble the crust
together we agree,
not so much a hole, as
a door gently shut,
and a window flung wide
for souls and
spring breezes.
I know I'm a little slow on the uptake, but it is finally dawning on me how much work being a writer/author is. From doing the actual writing, to researching editors and publishers, not to mention agents, to the publishing/editing process, to then marketing and promoting my own book, booking book talks and signings at schools, libraries, bookstores - getting my name out there in a blog or website...sheesh!!
But the first step is acceptance and now that I'm able to wrap my head around the reality of the situation - thanks to reading the articles in the Children's Writers and Illustrator's Writer's Market book - I am readjusting my belt and going for it. I feel like I'm at my first day of my third job. First two jobs - full time Outreach Coordinator teaching financial literacy to kids. I get to make money and boring economics fun. Second job, part time teacher at a language school teaching English to adults. And now for my third job...I feel like I need a new pencil case or something.
Amazingly, it's the simplest tip that has helped me dive headfirst back into the writing mode. I've got an egg timer by my bed and have been setting it for 15 minutes when I get into bed and write for 15 minutes every night. That doesn't sound like much can get accomplished, but so far I've just been writing up the character outlines for The Asparagus Revival and what a difference those 15 minutes have made! Granny Bea is a complex woman! And I haven't even gotten to her background story of how she learned to make magic asparagus pies. And isn't it intereting that the antagonist of the story is the one I most see myself in, there's a therapy session somewhere in there I'm sure.
But overall, with these 15 min. sessions have flipped a creative switch in me and I am seeing inspiration, ideas and character details everywhere! There aren't enough 15 min. segments in the day to take care of all of them!
I'm thinking I need to add some software to my savings wishlist - Dragon Naturally Speaking. I heard about it at a workshop and it's supposed to allow you to speak your writing to the computer and it types it all in. Hmmmmm. I wonder if it knows how to spell flibberty jibbit. Do I know how to spell flibberty jibbit?
Off to work on my Lazy J animal ranch story. I think Mexico is going to take a back seat to Japan so I'm off to the land of the rising sun.
I leave you with another poem that I sent off to The Iowa Review. Enjoy.
Midnight Pie
By Kelly Hayes
The grandfather
clock is sleeping,
unlike the pair of us,
Grammy and I,
scrounging in the kitchen
for cherry pie,
sweet cherry filling
for the hole left gaping,
even after words,
flowers and goodbyes.
As we crumble the crust
together we agree,
not so much a hole, as
a door gently shut,
and a window flung wide
for souls and
spring breezes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Some Poetry and Lists
Poetry to come, but first...I am a list person, a listist if you will, and should also invest in the post-it note industry seeing as how I am a valued customer. Imagine my delight then when Real Simple magazine's January issue featured tips on list making - nothing I don't already know - but also had composed some lists that famous people may have kept. I tried to cut and paste here, but they don't have the lists on the website...so here are my favorites:
Written by Brian Barrett, Chris Colin, Christopher Healy and Rebecca Traister,
Annie Oakley
__ Get my gun.
__ Buy more playing cards.
__ No business like show business? Confirm.
__ Try out new spur polish.
__ Go see what Frank's doing.
__ Do it better.
__ Sitting Bull's birthday tomorrow!
__ Show at 8. Shoot to thrill.
Genghis Khan
__ Pillage.
__ Plunder.
__ Have shirt taken in.
__ Pillage.
__ Pillage.
__ Seven O'Clock parent-teacher meeting.
__ Plunder.
__ Pillage.
Fred Astaire
__ Wash ceiling.
__ Take cravat-tying lessons.
__ Find something new to twirl (am tired of canes and umbrellas)
__ Buy another case of floor wax
__ Make peace with Gay Divorcee jokes.
__ Show Ginger new top hat.
__ Try to get "The Way You Look Tonight" out of head.
__ Look into this "disco" thing.
__ Apologize to downstairs neighbors.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
__ Powder wig.
__ Powder face.
__ Fluff ruffles.
__ Compose symphony.
__ Lunch.
__ Compose another symphony.
__ Buy some lemons; if can't find any lemons, consider bathing.
__ Chase comely lass.
__ Prepare list of witty double entrendres to use whenever people say they can't wait to see my Magic Flute.
__ Send consolation gift to Salieri. Maybe some rouge? (He never whears enough.)
__ Start playing for babies; they seem to like my stuff.
So I thought they were funny. And could be good inspiration for stories...writing exercises...hmmm.
And now for some poems. These are a couple of the ones I just sent out to The Iowa Review.
Wine Glasses
By Kelly Hayes
Things said –
he ponders
while washing
the wine glasses.
He’d said –
and been made
to feel – .
He rubs at the bar code
of a lip print.
Voices raised –
Absurdity.
But things were said.
He swirls the suds.
They’d said –
he had questioned – .
Words still roll.
He wipes dry
the wine glasses.
Cherries
By Kelly Hayes
I spit
my pit
farthest first.
Bobbing in the bay,
thoughts between us.
You spit
your pit
farther than mine,
Spoke of him, days past.
Pits under the bridge.
Written by Brian Barrett, Chris Colin, Christopher Healy and Rebecca Traister,
Annie Oakley
__ Get my gun.
__ Buy more playing cards.
__ No business like show business? Confirm.
__ Try out new spur polish.
__ Go see what Frank's doing.
__ Do it better.
__ Sitting Bull's birthday tomorrow!
__ Show at 8. Shoot to thrill.
Genghis Khan
__ Pillage.
__ Plunder.
__ Have shirt taken in.
__ Pillage.
__ Pillage.
__ Seven O'Clock parent-teacher meeting.
__ Plunder.
__ Pillage.
Fred Astaire
__ Wash ceiling.
__ Take cravat-tying lessons.
__ Find something new to twirl (am tired of canes and umbrellas)
__ Buy another case of floor wax
__ Make peace with Gay Divorcee jokes.
__ Show Ginger new top hat.
__ Try to get "The Way You Look Tonight" out of head.
__ Look into this "disco" thing.
__ Apologize to downstairs neighbors.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
__ Powder wig.
__ Powder face.
__ Fluff ruffles.
__ Compose symphony.
__ Lunch.
__ Compose another symphony.
__ Buy some lemons; if can't find any lemons, consider bathing.
__ Chase comely lass.
__ Prepare list of witty double entrendres to use whenever people say they can't wait to see my Magic Flute.
__ Send consolation gift to Salieri. Maybe some rouge? (He never whears enough.)
__ Start playing for babies; they seem to like my stuff.
So I thought they were funny. And could be good inspiration for stories...writing exercises...hmmm.
And now for some poems. These are a couple of the ones I just sent out to The Iowa Review.
Wine Glasses
By Kelly Hayes
Things said –
he ponders
while washing
the wine glasses.
He’d said –
and been made
to feel – .
He rubs at the bar code
of a lip print.
Voices raised –
Absurdity.
But things were said.
He swirls the suds.
They’d said –
he had questioned – .
Words still roll.
He wipes dry
the wine glasses.
Cherries
By Kelly Hayes
I spit
my pit
farthest first.
Bobbing in the bay,
thoughts between us.
You spit
your pit
farther than mine,
Spoke of him, days past.
Pits under the bridge.
Another Contest
I just packaged up some poetry to send off to The Iowa Review. Here I go again!
I'm posting Pockets, one of the stories I sent off to the Sonora Review, and then a couple of the poems.
I hope you enjoy.
Pockets
By Kelly Hayes
The last reverberations on the violin faded with the lights and applause exploded in the theatre. The cast took their bows, the conductor took his and the lights came up. Men in tuxedos ushered their dates out by their elbows. Women played with the jewels on their collarbones, basking in the afterglow as they filed into the foyer under the massive glittering chandelier. Men presented their tickets to the coat check for furs and top hats and they all stepped into the snow to their town cars, or hailed cabs.
Celia and Finn were the last to leave the theatre, Celia’s cheeks still glowing.
“Oh Finn, it’s snowing. I knew I should have worn my coat, but I just couldn’t bear to bring that drab old thing here.” Celia pulled the gossamer wrap tight around her shoulders, to no real warming effect.
“Celia darling, you’ll have my jacket of course.” Finn began to shrug out of his rented tux jacket when the man at the coat check called out to them.
“Miss, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a beautiful coat here that hasn’t been claimed for over a week and a half. No calls or nothin’. Looks to be just your size, too.” The man disappeared into his room and came out bearing a rich vanilla fur coat, knee length with a collar to the ears. Celia squealed and looked at Finn.
“If you’re sure it’s ok,” said Finn to the man.
“Of course. If anyone wanted it, they would have come long ago.”
Celia slipped into the coat like a cat into its own skin. She squeezed the fur around her and brushed her cheeks along the collars.
“Oh, it’s marvelous, Finn. Absolutely marvelous.”
“Shall we then?” Finn offered his arm and thanked the man at the coat check, and Celia and Finn stepped out into the snow.
They strolled slowly through the avenues and snowflakes, arm in arm talking over the performance and Celia’s amazing luck. Finn’s attention was only given to the occasional agreeable ‘mmmhmm’ or ‘oh, yes,’ as he rolled something small and delicate in his fingers hidden in his jacket pocket.
“Finn, I just can’t believe it. This is the happiest night of my life.” Celia ran her hands over the luxurious, creamy fur, and paused at the pocket. “Finn, there’s something in the pocket. What do you think it could be?”
“I haven’t the faintest.” Finn shivered in his thin jacket and shoes that were too small and pinched. He had felt so silly sitting through that performance with all those glittering people in his ancient suit that still smelled slightly of mothballs. But Celia had been wanting to go for so long, and tonight was to be a very special night, after all.
Celia pulled out a small black box, and instantly Finn hoped it was empty. Celia grinned up at him and flipped the lid. A brilliant diamond set in the center of a ring of small sapphires gleamed up at them in the lamplight. Celia gasped in delighted awe.
“Oh Finn! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Isn’t it just gorgeous?” She slipped it on her finger, holding her left hand up to admire twinkling among the snow.
“Perhaps we ought to return this to the theatre. Maybe they can find its owner.” Finn’s hand clenched in his pocket.
“Oh Finny, do we have to? No one came to claim it. A million things could have happened for this coat and this delicious ring to be left there. Can’t I keep them? Please?” Celia batted her eyes and pleaded with Finn. He looked off into the snow and sighed.
“Come Celia, I better get you out of this cold.” Celia snuggled down into the collar, and beamed at the ring on her hand, which beamed right back. Finn shivered again and felt something small and delicate snap in his fist in the pocket, as he led Celia home.
I'm posting Pockets, one of the stories I sent off to the Sonora Review, and then a couple of the poems.
I hope you enjoy.
Pockets
By Kelly Hayes
The last reverberations on the violin faded with the lights and applause exploded in the theatre. The cast took their bows, the conductor took his and the lights came up. Men in tuxedos ushered their dates out by their elbows. Women played with the jewels on their collarbones, basking in the afterglow as they filed into the foyer under the massive glittering chandelier. Men presented their tickets to the coat check for furs and top hats and they all stepped into the snow to their town cars, or hailed cabs.
Celia and Finn were the last to leave the theatre, Celia’s cheeks still glowing.
“Oh Finn, it’s snowing. I knew I should have worn my coat, but I just couldn’t bear to bring that drab old thing here.” Celia pulled the gossamer wrap tight around her shoulders, to no real warming effect.
“Celia darling, you’ll have my jacket of course.” Finn began to shrug out of his rented tux jacket when the man at the coat check called out to them.
“Miss, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a beautiful coat here that hasn’t been claimed for over a week and a half. No calls or nothin’. Looks to be just your size, too.” The man disappeared into his room and came out bearing a rich vanilla fur coat, knee length with a collar to the ears. Celia squealed and looked at Finn.
“If you’re sure it’s ok,” said Finn to the man.
“Of course. If anyone wanted it, they would have come long ago.”
Celia slipped into the coat like a cat into its own skin. She squeezed the fur around her and brushed her cheeks along the collars.
“Oh, it’s marvelous, Finn. Absolutely marvelous.”
“Shall we then?” Finn offered his arm and thanked the man at the coat check, and Celia and Finn stepped out into the snow.
They strolled slowly through the avenues and snowflakes, arm in arm talking over the performance and Celia’s amazing luck. Finn’s attention was only given to the occasional agreeable ‘mmmhmm’ or ‘oh, yes,’ as he rolled something small and delicate in his fingers hidden in his jacket pocket.
“Finn, I just can’t believe it. This is the happiest night of my life.” Celia ran her hands over the luxurious, creamy fur, and paused at the pocket. “Finn, there’s something in the pocket. What do you think it could be?”
“I haven’t the faintest.” Finn shivered in his thin jacket and shoes that were too small and pinched. He had felt so silly sitting through that performance with all those glittering people in his ancient suit that still smelled slightly of mothballs. But Celia had been wanting to go for so long, and tonight was to be a very special night, after all.
Celia pulled out a small black box, and instantly Finn hoped it was empty. Celia grinned up at him and flipped the lid. A brilliant diamond set in the center of a ring of small sapphires gleamed up at them in the lamplight. Celia gasped in delighted awe.
“Oh Finn! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Isn’t it just gorgeous?” She slipped it on her finger, holding her left hand up to admire twinkling among the snow.
“Perhaps we ought to return this to the theatre. Maybe they can find its owner.” Finn’s hand clenched in his pocket.
“Oh Finny, do we have to? No one came to claim it. A million things could have happened for this coat and this delicious ring to be left there. Can’t I keep them? Please?” Celia batted her eyes and pleaded with Finn. He looked off into the snow and sighed.
“Come Celia, I better get you out of this cold.” Celia snuggled down into the collar, and beamed at the ring on her hand, which beamed right back. Finn shivered again and felt something small and delicate snap in his fist in the pocket, as he led Celia home.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
And I'm Off!
I sent out three short-shorts to the Sonora short-short story contest yesterday! I sent By The Horns, and two others that will appear here shortly...you can let me know what you think of them.
I also went to a workshop this weekend by Anne Randolph and of Soup Kitchen Writing and got some tips on discipline for my writing. I've been setting a timer and writing for 15 minutes every night (for two nights so far!) and I actually look forward to it instead of the usual ADD I get when sitting at the computer. I may be on to something! Now for my next party trick...I'm still at the office (after hours so I'm not cheating The Man) waiting to go to my next job and I'm going to be working on my kid's book in this time... I'm almost too productive for my own good. Let's see how long this will work, and what great things will come of it?
I also went to a workshop this weekend by Anne Randolph and of Soup Kitchen Writing and got some tips on discipline for my writing. I've been setting a timer and writing for 15 minutes every night (for two nights so far!) and I actually look forward to it instead of the usual ADD I get when sitting at the computer. I may be on to something! Now for my next party trick...I'm still at the office (after hours so I'm not cheating The Man) waiting to go to my next job and I'm going to be working on my kid's book in this time... I'm almost too productive for my own good. Let's see how long this will work, and what great things will come of it?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
One For Chuckles
I'm sorting through my poetry, new and old, getting ready to send some out to contests when I happily stumbled upon this oldie-but-goodie. I don't think it's necessarily what the journals and lit mags want these days, but it still makes me smile and I hope it does you too.
Enjoy!
Poor Little Sheepy
By Kelly Hayes
Some little sheepy
is feelin’ kinda weepy
‘cause someone came
and stole her wooly coat.
They knitted it to a sweater,
made it smell a bit better,
and sent it ‘cross the ocean
on a trans-atlantic boat.
There are Great Big sales
on little sheepy tails,
half-off lambswool
sweaters dyed in blue.
And that poor little sheepy
is feelin’ bare and weepy,
she doesn’t like the
nakedness, would ewe?
Enjoy!
Poor Little Sheepy
By Kelly Hayes
Some little sheepy
is feelin’ kinda weepy
‘cause someone came
and stole her wooly coat.
They knitted it to a sweater,
made it smell a bit better,
and sent it ‘cross the ocean
on a trans-atlantic boat.
There are Great Big sales
on little sheepy tails,
half-off lambswool
sweaters dyed in blue.
And that poor little sheepy
is feelin’ bare and weepy,
she doesn’t like the
nakedness, would ewe?
Monday, January 5, 2009
Charmed Silver Shoes: For Readers Who Write: Upcoming Submission Deadlines
I found this blog today which intrigues me and I will be looking at more...but especially for the submission information. As I said, New Year's resolutions, so here goes! And, her headlining quote is from the Wizard of Oz. It's meant to be!
Charmed Silver Shoes: For Readers Who Write: Upcoming Submission Deadlines
Charmed Silver Shoes: For Readers Who Write: Upcoming Submission Deadlines
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Food for thought...and writing
I haven't done a whole lot of writing over my vacation...ok, practically none, though I did revise the plot to Wild Asparagus and kind of worked on my Cricket's short story...coming soon to a blog near you. But, I have been doing research. And by research, I mean reading up books like they were hot fudge sundaes. I am taking notes of great writing styles - sometimes to the detriment of my own writing confidence - and what works and what doesn't. Some good books and authors to note - Holy Fools by Joanne Harris, also the author of Chocolate. I have read most of her books so far and only one has been a miss. Holy Fools is well done and she is really a colorful storyteller. North to the Orient by Anne Morrow Lindbergh is a fascinating account of her journey with her husband Charles Lindberg up and over Canada and Alaska, down to Japan and China in the early days of aviation. And I've just started reading Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan. I liked her style immediately and in the first few pages her 'dead' character was talking about wanting to have been cremated and put in 9 different boxes, and then those boxes would be given to 9 different friends to do with her as they would. Hmmm... who would my 9 boxes go to? I thought that was a good ponderance and there may be a writing exercise in there too. And with that lovely uplifting thought...I leave you to go do some writing.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Happy New Year!
2009 is now underway and I am full of great intentions to hunker down and write write write! Resolutions include sending out more work to contests and publications while working on my kid's book and novel simultaneously. Number one goal for the year - get my kid's book sent out. I will keep you posted on that.
Meanwhile...here is a poem that was published in the 1999 edition of CU's literary magazine, Tip O' the Tongue, with a special dedication to my brother.
Feminist's Nightmare
By Kelly Hayes
I had a feminist’s nightmare
the other night.
However, I rather warmed
in the smoldering remains.
A shady…more like midnight-
dark character
was after me – nothing new,
and I found safety in the arms
of a man.
The fear and horror couldn’t
touch me
while I was wrapped strong
and tight in him.
No dream of mine has ever
had an outlet like that,
never had a safe port,
and I loved it.
I smiled all the following day in fond
memory of his strength.
Feminists around the world
will pull their hair and
scream and cry
and claim myself a traitor
to the glory of womanhood.
And I even felt a tinge of guilt
when I woke
that it was a man
and not my mother
holding me.
But you know, I escaped
on my own and safe
when I left his arms.
The strongest of us
sometimes need a recharge
and isn’t part of womanhood
love- even of a mere man?
Ooooh! I hear those screams.
Well, strike me down!
I dreamt of being held,
and safe,
and strong,
and I am a better woman
because of it.
Meanwhile...here is a poem that was published in the 1999 edition of CU's literary magazine, Tip O' the Tongue, with a special dedication to my brother.
Feminist's Nightmare
By Kelly Hayes
I had a feminist’s nightmare
the other night.
However, I rather warmed
in the smoldering remains.
A shady…more like midnight-
dark character
was after me – nothing new,
and I found safety in the arms
of a man.
The fear and horror couldn’t
touch me
while I was wrapped strong
and tight in him.
No dream of mine has ever
had an outlet like that,
never had a safe port,
and I loved it.
I smiled all the following day in fond
memory of his strength.
Feminists around the world
will pull their hair and
scream and cry
and claim myself a traitor
to the glory of womanhood.
And I even felt a tinge of guilt
when I woke
that it was a man
and not my mother
holding me.
But you know, I escaped
on my own and safe
when I left his arms.
The strongest of us
sometimes need a recharge
and isn’t part of womanhood
love- even of a mere man?
Ooooh! I hear those screams.
Well, strike me down!
I dreamt of being held,
and safe,
and strong,
and I am a better woman
because of it.
The Culprit
Here is a mugshot of the reason why I had not done as much writing as I'd wanted to this past year. Between this blanket, and the more normal-sized one for my brother and sister-in-law, I had my hands - and lap - and couch- full for the better part of the year. I won't be knitting any more blankets for a long, long long time...but just imagine if that had been a sweater!
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