Oh My. I’m Doing This Again…with trepidation

You are so mad at us. You are so mad you want to eat knives and show us your bleeding belly and say, this..this is what you made me do, you damned Chickz. You are so sad you want to chew the hair off our head and swallow it so we will always be with you. forever. You are so happy right now you want to write an epic poem and then make 25 copies, one for each of your best friends.

You are happy now because we are coming back.

Or maybe, I’m projecting. Maybe, I am happy.

Yes. That’s it, dear readers. I am so happy to be here talking, even for a few moments. Even for a breath.

Don’t worry:

moving, renovation: relevant (perhaps always)

so, here’s the low down.

Things are happening right now, important things, hard things, big things, things that tire us like the wailing of sirens in the morning. Moving is a theme of our lives right now and that’s making blogging a difficult task for us. I am speaking for all the girls here, but I think they’d agree if I said, we’ve sorta hung a sign on this virtual door saying, “Be back shortly” in loopy red writing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re here, physically. Ask us things, take us out to coffee, tell us you love us so much. But, seeing as the website is currently under construction, we’ve kinda begun to get our own personal lives in order before getting back into the swing of this here thing. [I’ve mentioned this but we’ve got this cool web designer guy going to town on the site right now. He’s like magic or a man in an orange protective helmet].

Here is a short list of what’s been going on with the Chickz:

*Abby Hines became Abby Grindle and the other five of us dressed in our wedding finery and went out to support the blushing bride.

*Lindsey has found her various game systems: Nintendo, GameCube, Sega, etc and is currently attempting to rule the world of gaming.

*Lindsey and Lora moved into the house, they are sharing the apartment below Ashley and myself (along with Mr. McNelly). Layne has yet to move but will be around August. (She’s just ‘cross town from us other gals). And, Abs is around the block with her hubby.

our house.

*I have been diligently working and searching for more work. I just secured a second job at Tradehome Shoes in the mall (Sean Lovelace, come see me and I’ll sell you some nice hiking boots and running shoes)!

*Ashley Ford has been working on decorating her new bedroom. It looks stunning thus far. She also works two big-girl jobs!

*Lastly, Lindsey, Lora and myself are trying hard to acquaint the three cats in our lives: Sampson, Pol Pot, and Ghenghiss Khat. So, needless to say, a lot of hissing and cat drama.

Dear readers, the darling few of you who have kept with us during this time of slow reading, we sincerely promise to bring you a spankin’ new website with new and stellar material soon.

We love you guys.

It’s Tuesday?! CALLING ALL ARTEEESTz

Man.

I guess I forgot today was Tuesday.

Anyways, I do have things to tell you, general public, writers, readers, etc!

So, I had this idea…for those of you who remember, Layne and I recently did a reading for the Slash Pine Poetry Festival in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I know I’ve written about that before, but I have to mention again that it was a wonderful experience. And, I would really love for my other Chickz to be involved in something similar and to perhaps sponsor that event.

I have noticed that readings can go either way. Usually, they’re good. But, that could very well be my own discriminating tastes matched with a discriminating pocket book. Sometimes, readings are bad. And, I have been to a few bad readings.

yeah...sometimes that's how it feels

I suppose there are several reasons that  live readings turn out badly, but I find this list takes the cake predominately:

A) the readers are relatively in experienced

B) the crowd is boring

C) the crowd is bored [either bored in that artsy, bru-ha-ha way, or because the readers have no clue what they ‘re doing.]

or finally, D) there isn’t enough happening!

How do we change these problems?! Well, some of them, we can’t change. New readers must be given the opportunity to be involved or else readings will die like the dinosaurs.

But, as far as the other issues go, I think I’ve come up with a few cures we could implement.

First of all, I’d like to do a reading, more an event actually. I guess that’s the main point I’m trying to make. I’d like it to be large, with writers from throughout the midwest, with varying themes and genres. I’d like to mix up the crowd a bit, including both college students and the older set.

let's get the porch sittin' hicks out on the town!

My hatchling ideas are as follows:doing a dinner with the readers, where attendees could pay a fee to sit at a table with a writer of their choice [this is how we include the older, more financially inclined set]. Also, I was thinking of having a short concert after the reading with two or three bands performing, so as to bring together the art community in the midwest. I want an amalgamation of artists. I’ve also had the idea of doing a small art display in the lobby of the venue.

[WHAT SAY Y’ALL?]

An event,  partially sponsored by Chicklitz via our own private fundraising. Thanks to a gracious source [hey dad!], I might have located a ritzy venue with catering, a theatre, etc–all in the area. I have a few ideas as to readers I’d like to invite, but mostly I want suggestions! This will be the first mention of anything to the rest of the Chicklitz, so I look forward to hearing from them as well as the rest of our readership and beyond.

Would you appreciate this type of an event?

Would you like to be involved if you are a current writer/artist in the midwest?

We can't all be this aloof. So, let's get together, yeah yeah yeah!

Well, we’re still here.

You may have noticed I skipped out last Monday. WHOOPS.  MY BAD.

Part of that was me still recovering from being in New York for a week.  While there, I lost my favorite hoodie.  I bought a backpack with wheels in Chinatown for thirty-six dollars. And I got some good books, like this one:

So far it’s like hearing a creepy orchestra tucked in the walls, or crawling up from the basement.  Sometimes it’s too quiet for comfort and sometimes it accompanies a loud chill on my shoulders.  It keeps on bowing strings in a way that buzzes my bones.  An unresolved chord.

I got to hear Pete Davis and Jill Christman read at the Vouched reading the day after I got back.  I expected to laugh a lot during Pete.  I expected plenty of heart from Jill.  Expectations fulfilled.  But I didn’t realize how hilariously informative Jill’s essay would be, and needed to be reminded of the strange pinpricks of sadness and wonder that dot Pete’s works, especially when read aloud.

But I’ll admit:  I feel preoccupied.  Not with typical things, but because it’s May 23^rd and I’m not covered in boils I’ve been Googling phrases like “rapture news,” “rapture disappointment,” and “where the hell is harold camping.”

Google Images: "kickass rapture pix"

Today I saw a dead cat in the road and I keep crying…

Today in the car, Lindsey said I could be an idiot sometimes, and I said, So can you, babe.

And, god. I know we were both right. But, today, I have proven the greater idiot. And, right now, I’m wondering how I can keep writing this when all I really want to do is hug my cat and see a therapist. We’re adults now. I mean it. By we, I guess I mean me and I’m just trying to clutch anyone or anything in this time where I am free falling or some other cliche.

So, here I am.

Wondering how I’ll pay rent next month when the job oppurtunity I was pretty sure was “in the bag” seems to have fizzled into something I can no longer touch. Wondering if it’s ok to let my girlfriend buy the groceries this time. Wondering if I’ll ever feel less heavy than I do right now. Wondering why I just idiotically singed my bangs on the stove burner.

Today, I went to work after saying goodbye to my best friend. We had coffee, something I probably shouldn’t spent money on but hey, I haven’t had Starbucks in like two weeks. My friend, Natalie, and I discussed how we need to talk more. We promised to keep each other accountable and use the US Postal service better.

After work, I saw the cat I rescued a few weeks ago dart into traffic. I had kicked him out after a particularly stressful morning when the shower upstairs began leaking through the downstairs ceiling. He was mewling frantically around my ankles. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran down the stairs, threw open the door and said, it’s me or the wild, kid. Take your pick. And he chose the wild. I thought I’d never see him again.

Lindsey and I freaked when we saw him in the road. We pulled over, ran after him. I screamed his name, purred, clicked, and seriously doubted myself as a human being. Also, I was still feeling less than good about my skills as a cat mom. Just when I’d about given up looking for him, Lindsey came running, said there was a dead cat body in the road, black like mine.

I haven’t seen a dead pet since my dog daisy was hit by a car.

The eyes of that cat popped out onto the sidewalk, an afro of red circling his head. I almost puked into my hand. I was sobbing, shaking my head, sure it wasn’t him. Crying out his name. And then, we found him: under a truck, soaking wet and scared.

So, now I am a cat mom again. 

but I have yet to buy this sweater

From here, does it get better? Right? That’s the question I should be asking. But, really, all I want to know is, does the cat still love me? And, will I ever get that dead cat body out of my head?

Sometimes the scariest things are the ones that seem unimportant. Sure, I need a job, I need to pay rent, I need groceries. I don’t really need the added expense of a cat. But, I feel like I’m doing the right thing. Even if I’ve been an idiot today. Even if this is idiotic. I saved something. And, that’s important to me.

 

 

Things Are Nuts

Sorry for my no-show last Monday.  Things are nuts.

When this post goes up, I’ll be in New York.  Lord knows what I’ll be doing.  But I can tell you that no matter how exhausted I am when I get back after the week, I’m going to this, and you better be too.

WE’RE SO SORRY. BUT IT’S FINALS WEEK!

This week we will be busy:

swooping our number 2 pencils across sheets of paper destined to fracture our nerves. We will be moving in ond out of houses (dorms for me). We will be dancing across campus, unwashed, in pajamas. We will be eating canned food. We will be pulling our hair out in distress …because we love you so much, internet peeps. And, we’re sorry we can’t be here as regularly this week.

But I have two bits of good news. 1) we have a web designer. A Mr. Darik Hall who seems delightful!

And 2) I have a cat. His name is Sampson.

This is him (and Lindsey).

During Our Easter Meal, I Mentioned That April Is National Poetry Month And My Grandpa Made Up A Limerick.

This is happening Thursday.

YEAH BUDDY

Oh, Last Night. Oh, My Heart.

Handsome is one of my besties. He was at VGR in spirit.

– Last night was (obvs) the CHICKLITZ reading at Village Green Records, and my goodness, so many people we love came to support us, and wow, that was just lovely. Having Jill Christman (the spirit animal of CHICKLITZ) introduce us, and love us, and be there was amazing. Moms, sisters, fiancées, friends, professors, and heart-dwellers all shhowed up to stand in our corners! We performed separately, we performed together, we had others perform our pieces (Spencer McNelly is EVERYTHING) and we did it all nervously, but with so much love for everyone else in the room.

That chapbook was beautiful, the girls were gorgeous, and the crowd was full of eye-swelling faces, making me feel some kind of way, you know? There will be pictures soon. I just don’t have any. I brought my camera then got too excited to document much.

– I got my very first rejection yesterday. Yep, right before the reading. I didn’t say anything to the girls because it somehow didn’t seem relevant until now. I didn’t get upset about the rejection. They said they liked my writing, but this story didn’t really work for them. It was a personal rejection. That made me feel better. The best part? I didn’t die like I’d somehow convinced myself I would if I ever received a rejection. Either I’m gaining some confidence in my writing or–wait, no–that’s exactly what it is. I know I’m a good writer. I’ll find a new home for that story.

-Last night I dreamt I found out I was related to Oprah. Like CLOSE related. She was my aunt, or birthmother, or something. She came to hang out with me in Fort Wayne. I took her to Hyde Brothers book store. We browsed for hours, sometimes running to different ends of the store to find one another and read some passage in a book that made our bellies drop to our knees. If she was really impressed, she’d hold the book above her head and yell, “BOOK CLUUUUB!” The smile on her face would be wide and real, and I would not be embarrassed. Not even a little. My birthmother/aunt/muse/fellow-book-lover was giving me something like purpose and I just want to make her smile again. Off in search of the next scalp-blowing passage.