Tag Archives: June

Writing at 5 am and June the Cat at Ali’s Bookshelf

21 Mar


I get up really really really early to write. Because of this, I’m usually exhausted all day and asleep by 10 pm.  But I don’t mind. It works for me.

I’m over at Ali’s Bookshelf talking about this and my cat June

Tomorrow she’ll have a review of Lizzy Speare and the Cursed Tomb. Cross your fingers that it’s a good one.

So to Ali, thanks for having me!

and as always, the Starburst of Thanks to say…..well, Thanks!


And because she gets top billing…..This is June.




Poems and Philosophy

28 Feb

First off, there are poems –  actually a poem – over at The Blue Hour about boys and basketballs and my June who thinks she’s one tough kitty.

So many thanks to them. Small presses rock.

That covers the poetry part – now to the philosophy part.

I was riding the subway the other day, thinking about a book I want to/sort of am writing. It’s about when I was in high school and I fell off a waterfall cracking my noggin open. But really it’s about the people who I spent my time with then, people who meant the world to me – that even today, still do. And I was stuck with a particular thought:

I’m so incredibly thankful I grew up when I did because now I know how to be alone and still.

Hear me out:

During twilight, in the winter or summer, I used to go on walks with my best friend Dan who lived around the corner. We would walk and talk or sometimes we would walk and not talk. We would go down to the basketball courts in my old neighborhood and lay there, staring up at the stars. We would just be together. But also, alone.

Do you know what I mean? The way you can be with someone but also be by yourself?

So that got me thinking about that time, about being in high school during a time of mix tapes and duct tape that held your bumper on and stealing beers from the garage.

And what it made me think about the most was the quiet. Because we had no cell phones. We had no internet. There was no technology that kept us all together. Now clearly we all know the danger of cyber bullying and the heartbreaking stories like that of Amanda Todd – something that extreme is not even what I’m getting into here. It’s something smaller. Something that might be eating us up slowly.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel really lucky to have been in that horribly amazing time before all this “connection.” Because it let me be ALONE.

And there’s a lot to be said about being alone.

About knowing what the crunch of gravel sounds like under your feet in the summer evening.

About laying in your room, alone, making a mix tape for the boy you secretly like.

About just being still.

About knowing that after school – after that horrible fight I had with my friend, after all the horrible things I said and she said – that it’s over. It’s not going to continue in this other world where other people can watch. It’s just me now, and my feelings, alone in my room where I can sort them out and remember that I love her. And she loves me. And now that we can calm down I can see that again.

I just feel really lucky. And not to sound too old or anything but I worry about the kids who are texting and skypeing and tweeting their way through high school. I worry they don’t know how to be alone. That they might not even understand the CONCEPT of alone, truly alone, truly unconnected.

That singular moment when you can feel the blood cells race through your veins.

The realization that you are here, in your room, in this house, on this street, in this town, in this country, on this planet, floating out there in all that dark empty space.

That the chance that you would EVEN exist is minuscule and yet, here you are – alive and still and alone.

Alone is a good thing. And it’s not the same as loneliness. Because I wasn’t lonely. I had friends I would jump off waterfalls for. And I wasn’t afraid of the quiet. Of being with me and only me.

It is its own form of peace. One that we should be careful not to lose.

….And the smoke came out our mouths On all those hooded sweatshirt walks We were a stroke of luck We were a goldmine and they gutted us…

 – Conor Obrest

Another Day

10 Sep

Good morning.

It’s early, yet again and after a lovely vacation from my life, I’m up and back at it with Jeff Spurgeon’s dulcet tones and fantastic musical choices with me. And of course, June.

I’m been really really lucky lately and got a few poems picked up in a few different places. They’re all in the Pocketful of Posey section of this ol blog but here’s the latest at Negative Suck and Underground Voices.

Some of those poems I read while I was in Pittsburgh, which if I haven’t said enough, was a really great visit. Also had a chance to pop in on my folks while traveling (someone had to watch the beastly JuneCat) which was also great and included a facetime visit with my nearly three year old neice who told me that “Daddy said I couldda go to da zoo but I hava be-have.” It was so cute.

As this morning is rapidly slipping away, I’m going to get to work on the short story I should have been writing this whole time instead of messing around with this blog -but what is a blog for if not a massive time suck?

I’ve got some stuff to do – some Shakespeare to read, some new music to listen to. I am all ready – eagerly awaiting the fall. This morning when I opened the window across from this little closet a burst of cool air came in and with it some hope. Here’s to a new season.

Oh wait! Real quick – I’m reading Cloud Atlas and the whole thing is blowing my mind. I’ve never read a book constructed like this. I need to write a whole post just dedicated to that. The Wachowski siblings are making a movie out of it. Basically they took a more subtle theme and teased it out, spinning it into something more complex. Here’s the preview.


Okay, back to work.

Lord, what fools these Mortals be. – Midsummer Night’s Dream. Act 3, Scene 2

Strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff

6 Apr

I write in a closet.

Literally. It’s my own little nook and I love it. Here’s a picture of it:

I didn’t build the bookshelves. The amazing industrious crafty previous tenant built shelves AND put an outlet in AND an overhead light. I can’t thank her/him/it enough. That black thing hanging in the corner – you see that? That is a gift from my oldest friend in the world. We had this conversation on the phone:

Him: “What are you going to be for Halloween this year?”

Me: “The shadow of my former self.”

And there it is, folks. He made it for me. My very own shadow (suck it Peter Pan!). It’s a pretty good likeness only you can’t tell here cause her head is drooping. I should fix it and take another picture. Here’s what it looks like when the tacks haven’t fallen out.

Also, the little radio there is one of my favorite things ever because each morning, during writing time, I get to listen to WQXR’s Jeff Spurgeon. And let me tell you, if you don’t know Jeff, you better ask somebody. His dulcet tones will put anyone in a dreamstate of goodness and light with unicorns and rainbows and singing mermaids. But he’s only on in the wee hours of the morning.

Like 5 am.

Which is when I write.

Because I clearly hate myself.

Most people think that ‘s crazy. And they’re right. Honestly. It wasn’t my idea. It was my husband’s. He writes too and he came up with this cockamamie plan that if you get up early and write at the butt-crack of dawn then you get it done without excuses, before the world takes a piece out of you. First thought, best thought sort of thing, maybe.

Also, he clearly hates sleep.

But I gotta tell you, it works. Granted I’m asleep by 10:30 on the couch with a book splayed across my face but it works. I’ve never in my life been as productive as I have in the past 4 years that I’ve been doing this.

So that’s what I do. 5 am. But no one writes in a vacuum.  The other side of my room contains random crap – christmas decorations, boxes of old journals, boxes of comics and this:

That’s June. Everyone say “Hi June.”

June is as demonic as she looks. (Trust me – her laser eyes will melt your face off). That’s June’s box. It was supposed to hold comics but instead it holds June. She is a massive pain in the butt but she spends every writing morning in that little nook with me. Her random unsolicited meows go well with Mozart.

Okay enough about writing.

Next post: Books! Comics! Battlestar Galactica!

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