Monday, June 27, 2011

Child of Glass

(or creepy memories in the form of a blue ghost)

Years of asking, "Have you seen the Glass Child?" have essentially paid off...thanks in part to my lax Internet skills.

After research, the facts probably are as follows:

In Germany circa 1989, AFN aired this Walt Disney made-for-TV movie Filled With Murder, Mystery...And Ghosts!

The movie centers on a boy who moves into an old, majestic Southern plantation in Louisiana with his family and becomes involved in the legends that haunt the home and surrounding land.

I, alongside my next-door neighbor friends watched it, recorded it (VHS tapes, yo yo yo), and promptly became obsessed:

Halloween became All Saint's Eve
We saw "restless spirits" everywhere (or was that just me?)
Midnight was a special, creepy hour
Any unexplained sound was a ghost (our age, nice)

My crush on the main character Alexander Armsworth was serious...and I was convinced that the role of Blossom (his mystery-solving best gal pal) was created for me. Why else would I get so emotional when Blossom sees Alexander waltzing with another?

Finding a copy of the movie today is apparently difficult. I've seen bids on Amazon starting at fifty bucks! It's been downloaded to YouTube as well, but I refuse to watch the entire thing unless it's on the VHS tape I recorded it on (more than twenty years ago).

By thinking about this movie (and finally finding information on it), I can see where the foundation for my current interest in otherworldly beings, astronomical planes, and apparitions originated.

Question: Do I "believe" in ghosts?
Answer: Yes.

More entries to follow!


Tuesday, June 21, 2011





It's a process.

also included but not limited to:

self-loathing & doubt
computer & printer problems
missing writing utensils
watching trial coverage
consuming unnatural amounts of coffee


Saturday, June 11, 2011


In an abstract sense of the word.

I've been thinking about the evolution of reading in my life. WHEN exactly did I start leaning toward the fabulous form known as the short story?

(really good definition of the form at *shock* Wikipedia)

Having read short stories in high school (and college before), when I started reading them outside of class aka for "fun" I realized I was hooked on this form...this idea of a story focused on a very precise moment, event, or situation.

In the Gloaming (Alice Elliot Dark)
Drawn in by the title story...which was made into a short film by HBO (circa 1997), my copy of the book via Ebay (my very first item online) arrived sometime in 1998. Unfortunately it seems to have disappeared. Maybe it's in storage? Maybe it will be found one day in a box in the garage? Either way, I want to revisit the collection now and see it with a set of "semi-trained" eyes.

Soft Maniacs (Maggie Estep)
Hearing Maggie read from her collection (alongside her poetry) early in 1999 was memorable. Not only was she brash and bold, she had a certain "I know who I am and what I'm doing" air about her. I quickly became obsessed. I also began writing "real" poetry using "real" words AND a short story about a stuffed tiger named Lorenzo. How embarrassing.

Georgia Under Water (Heather Sellers)
Lovely. I remember seeing the cover along the aisles of Barnes & Noble and stopping cold. I picked it up, brought it home (after paying), and promptly devoured it within two or so days. Again, I was in love with another collection of short stories. People would ask, "What are you reading?" I would reply, "Short stories." Never any follow-up questions after that.

I think these thoughts are important, because I write short stories, short fiction, short narrative...whatever you want to call it. And despite the use of the word "short" to describe the structure--they say it's harder than writing a novel.

And I know I've said something along the same lines on more than one occasion. But after a year of graduate-level learning (and attempts at writing more), I can't say it enough. So difficult.


Friday, June 10, 2011

Spring Semester Outtakes (III)

Composing Paper(s) Spot
(The Writing Center)

Sun Setting
(Another late night in the WC)

Antique Shop Typewriter
(Day trip with Abby & Emily)

Awesome Pistachio Shell Craft
(for me, from Matt)

Spring Semester Outtakes (II)

On the way to Washington D.C.
(AWP Conference)

Daily Choices
(Georgetown Cupcake)

The Whitehouse
(Oft not photographed backside)

Vietnam War Memorial

Spring Semester Outtakes (I)

Back bedroom at Andalusia
(folding brochures, with Melissa)

Important Instructions

Manly Pointer
(playing coy)

Manly Pointer
(I see you looking!)

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Fall Semester Outtakes (III)

Morning view of Auditorium
(on way to Writing Center)

Live Oak Trees
(Front Campus)

Curves Ahead
(Front Campus)

Hanging of the Green(s)
(Front Campus)

Fall Semester Outtakes (II)

Hats on Parade
(Macon, GA)

Fancy Lunch
(still in Macon)


& a Baby Shower

Fall Semester Outtakes (I)

Blackbird Coffee
(downtown Milledgeville)

Coffee Mosaic
(Blackbird bathroom)

Special Dinner Guest
(Courtesy of Oliver)

Scrabble Mosaic
(Melissa's Place)

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


which is at least three times worse than packing and unpacking.

Packing: You take a set amount of "stuff" and move it somewhere my case, it was a "carload" and it was 500 miles.

Unpacking: Removing all of the "stuff" and setting it up to make a live-able my case, it took a few days for me to remove everything from my car and haul it upstairs in the 100+ degree heat (but it happened).

Between unpacking and where I am today (re-packing) I have gained more stuff. Via trips homes and trips to Walmart (and/or

My original carload of "stuff" seems to have multiplied...overnight? No, in the span of ten lovely months.

Because I am moving into a new place in August, I have to re-pack and store items while I am at home for (50 or so days)...obviously I can't "tote" my probably 2 carloads worth of stuff back and forth again...

Re-Packing: One classmate offered up storage containers. Another classmate offered up storage space. With such wonderful classmates, how can I complain? No complaints. Just a lot of planning.

I've already "made" a few bins worth of "winter" clothes (big laugh, there is no Winter in Georgia) and fancy teaching clothes (not needed yet). Alongside books and papers and more books and papers.

I went through my foodstuffs over the weekend and pulled everything out, placing them in full view. My goal is to save money and eat the remainder of what I've always decided to pass over during the last two semesters.

Example of a good idea gone wrong: Brown rice and a can of "Asian" vegetables (baby corn, bamboo shoots, sprouts, water chestnuts)....NOT delicious at ALL! I put my leftovers in a container I'll throw away.

Any ideas for garbanzo beans, cannellini beans, artichoke hearts, macaroni & cheese, Spanish rice, a jar of basil tomato sauce...???

The beans and rice and sauce as a...soup? I'll let you know what happens there.

I can't pack kitchen paraphernalia yet. I'm staring at a rather empty closet and bathroom. it's so weird to be living in such an empty place. I want to jump into my car and drive away.

The days are SOOOOOOO long.


Friday, June 3, 2011

The Lonely Writer

Young Woman Reading, Mary Cassatt 1876

I've heard the stories/read about the method: retreats, workshops, cabins in the woods, hotel rooms, unplugging, uninstalling...all the means of self-imposed isolation in attempts to create art.

In fact, I watched a short documentary last night and learned that Van Gogh stayed in an asylum for a year because he was able to paint daily without much interruption (and it was cheaper than staying in a hotel).

Being in a (mostly) empty college town for several weeks is not the same thing--this isolation is not self-imposed, it has been forced upon me.

At least that's my non-writing excuse. Sure, there are notecards with my character names, birth and death years now in existence. Yes, I have a strong idea for the second story in my thesis...BUT...

Why am I NOT writing?

boredom? lack of stimulation? loneliness? no schedule? no deadlines?

A combination of ALL OF THE ABOVE?

Or better yet, do I have no clue as to what I am doing? Am I lacking ideas, motivation, (gulp) talent? (Only "an artist" would say such a thing, I think I'm okay.)

I'll be back in the bluff city soon enough. Maybe the Mississippi River is more responsible for my mystical arts than I realized (Mark Twain would agree).

Then I can "force" myself into isolation--which is completely different than being bored to tears...believe me.


EDIT: All I can think about now after titling this post is THIS POEM by Anne Sexton...which means you have to go read it too.


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