Please?

Dear Fortune Cookies,

I'm sorry that I often make fun of what you tell me. Because sometimes you do a good job. So if ever there was a fortune that I'd like to come true at some point in the future....

Hugs and flowers,
Sheila

P.S. You are delicious.

Innuendo is a legitimate facet of the creative process.

I'm sure that, at some point, I intended to make this blog a space for discussing literature and the fine and delicate act of writing. Then again, I'm also sure that I intended to update it more frequently. Besides, some things are just too important to ignore. Like Target's health clinic ad, seen above. Does anyone else read that and want to ask, "Exactly how far are you asking me to go for that $10 gift card, Target?"

What the hell did I do?

So. Hiya.

I've got a little voice in the back of my head saying, "Wow, that's a surefire way to promote yourself and your writing: Stop updating your blog for two months (and your Facebook account for one of those two, for all that you used it anyway). And then -- then! Spend some money on a digital piano."

Oh, little voice. Go read some Sylvia Plath and at least sabotage yourself creatively.

This blog only has one follower, who knows what I've been up to (hi, Foose!), but it would probably inspire some responsibility and a sense of accountability in me if I wrote as there were more than one. So here we go:

Since the last post I made, I attended San Diego Comic Con. After that, I spent a month in a warehouse with a few other people, doing an inventory of the ol' archives -- not of original comic book art, but of the reproductions kept on hand (film scans, photostats, etc.) that are most often used when old material gets reprinted.

Both of these were incredible experiences. Even in San Diego, despite the massive crowds at the convention, I got to see what modern creators, at big companies and small, are doing. In the warehouse, I got to see the foundations laid in the comic industry decades ago. I was surround by bad art and good art, stories of every caliber. The past month and a half presented me with a realm of ideas amazing and humbling in its size.

And in that time, I didn't write anything worth a damn.

How easy it is to get tired and overwhelmed when immense events are going on! And yet, though the con and the warehouse were draining, what got me in the end was not the fatigue, but that same, annoying little voice saying, "You know, you should rest instead of writing. You're so tired, what you write will suck anyway. You should save my energy. You can always write tomorrow."

Ladies and gentlemen, that last thought -- I can always [do whatever I love] tomorrow -- will kill you. Once you give up what you love, you will struggle to get it back. If something's important, make time for it, and it will grow with you.

So my goal is to get my writing back after not doing it for a while. Very good. But what, you may be wondering, does a piano have to do with any of this?

The piano was a promise I made to myself: When I had enough money, I would buy a piano and return to practicing another art I used to love. Well, the warehouse job gave me the money. Playing the piano reduces stress, and it helps the brain I've long worried about getting lazy stay active. Most importantly, though, it's a big, tangible reminder that art, whether writing or music or whatever you like, can be reclaimed if time is made for it regularly.

First up: Chopin's Prelude in A Major, Op. 28 No. 7, and Ted Kooser's 'The Poetry Home Repair Manual.' Gods help the world: I'm about to attempt art.

Mary Dempsey responds to suggestion that Illinois shoot itself in the right foot as well as the left

Just a couple minutes ago, a link was posted to this article. It's a response from Chicago Public Library Commissioner Mary Dempsey to a Fox News Chicago "Special Report" that, through its positioning and language, suggested that libraries are a waste of money for budget-screwed Illinois.

It seems especially irresponsible that, in a time of financial need for so many people, a news outlet tried to deride libraries, which offer so many educational and life-improving services to the public for free, as a waste. I think Mary Dempsey's response is very well-written.

I know I shouldn't be surprised at the slant Fox News opened this report with. I'm not. Just saddened.

Again, the link: Mary A. Dempsey Responds.

Good Poetry, Embarrassing Poetry, and Caffeine

Bless the Internet for giving us so many fun things to read and read about while we're supposed to be working.

First, I heard this poem read aloud on a podcast the other day and found it quite creepy. So many interesting things can be done with rhyme and form: Don Paterson's "The Lie"

And then there are the things, equally interesting but creepy for different reasons, that result from the rhyme and form writers try to employ when they're in their teens and getting used to their voice. I went to this site because of Felicia Day and wish I had found it sooner (because then my old poetry might have had a great home, hee hee!): Mortified

Finally, I am curious about this: Killer explosive Pepsi?

Thanks for stopping by to check out these links. I wish to update this blog more, but many of the things that intrigue me during the day end up being written about in my little red private notebook. And without those to mention, I'm pretty boring.

Lucille Clifton

The other day, I was listening to an interview that Curtis Fox from the Poetry Foundation did with the now-deceased poet Lucille Clifton. During the interview, Ms. Clifton read one of her poems, "homage to my hips." After she read, Mr. Fox mentioned that the poem had been written during the 1970s and asked her if it was a response to feminism.

Her answer? A laugh and "No, it was in response to my big hips!"

:)

Poets of the world, if we all smile a little more, maybe readers won't be afraid to remember that poetry touches on everything human!

Link: Lucille Clifton

A Sonnet for Superman -- The Rejected Version

A while back, I made a post about how I sometimes find it good to write just for the sake of writing, even if the results come out flawed. The poem below is another product of one of those sessions. It could've been good, but the familiar tone that the poem starts out with gets abandoned halfway through, the idea of something put out into the world coming back to you gets muddled, and the conclusion in the last line seems to come too suddenly, without being properly developed. And yet, I can't totally throw the poem away because, dude, I wrote something in sonnet form!

What could I do with this version? I thought. And then it occurred to me: I have a blog! And so....

“A Better Alter Ego for Superman”

Kal-El's disguise was pure and utter crap.
I'm sure you've thought so, too. Those glasses? Right.
Can't you just see them broken in a fight
By Supes himself the second that a slap
Loosed from his mighty hand came back and cracked
The lenses? With good will, that's how it goes.
In tempered fists or gilded words, it flows
Like water, easy. Wherever the pact
May bring it, though, we lack a guarantee:
The hands we'd touch with it could be too hard
To hold it. Yes, the Man of Steel might be
Too kind and resolute for us, so marred
And doubtful. Instead, throw the cape on me.
I'm here, I'm human, I'm perfectly scarred.

Ha! I love this.

If you had this, would you play "Settlers of Catan" on it... or would you wear it while playing "Settlers of Catan"?

And the first nominee for Most Unintentionally Giggle-Worthy Text Balloon in an Old Comic is...

Don't worry. It's oak-kay to make a spelling mistake sometimes.

You wanted it... the trees wanted it more!

Today was the day that professional registration for Comic-Con began. That got me looking at pictures from last year's trip, among which was this beauty. I hope the Capcom booth has more Monster Hunter swag this year.

Also, totally unrelated, but happy 25th birthday to my brother!

Sometimes, I make up song lyrics.

The following gem occurred to me just before I jumped into the shower. Most will recognize the tune:

"I am the very model of a stinky individual,
The smell that lingers on my pits is nothing but residual...."

You would think that I would do something else with that flash of absolute, stunning brilliance beyond making a public blog post about it.

But no, here we are.

I have still been writing actual stories. It's just that that snippet of song amused me more than most of what I worked on this morning.

Why no blog updates lately?

It's because I haven't received any more coupons that want to hit on me. Well, and because I blow my time reading "Lost" spoilers.

No, really, although the first of those two ideas is actually true, and that does leave me without as much interesting material to post, the simple truth is that I've been sitting with my notebook and thinking about what kind of book I'd like to put together next. (As for sitting with my notebook and actually writing in it -- that's easier some days than others).

Besides, everyone already knows that "Lost" is all in Hurley's head.

The Lascivious Coupon Book

"But, Coupon Book, it all seems so sudden! I mean, I know you come to my house regularly, but it's only once a month -- and you don't even know my name! I would never be more than just 'A Valued Customer' to you!"

Even junk mail can be something special.