My fall ’16 goal is to keep a dialogue going through my MFA program on writing, for writing.
The plan is to post a website post, here, every Monday, post a YouTube video every Tuesday and a blog post every Wednesday.
Alight Monday! Let’s do this!
Crap, it’s Tuesday.
This is what tough love looks like.
no – hell no
I was surprised what one of my writing prompts pulled out of Bare Naked Prose writer, Matt Garcia. Matt has given me permission to post his inner dialogue. Thanks Matt!
Below is the result of Matt’s writing prompt from 05/12/16:
“You know this is meaningless, right?” I look side to side, uncertain of where that voice came from. But slowly and surely, I begin to piece it together.
Someone at Scholastic was trying to be diverse and didn’t do their research. What a disaster.
Most retweeted Amazon review: Delia died a slave without her father. This book is sick.
This is what street poetry looks like in San Francisco.
I picked this up off the ground on Lombard and Fillmore today. I can only assume it was taped to a telephone pole and slid off during the brief rain. The title is The Complete Destruction of a Beautiful City, by Zachery Mohler.
I brought it to the bookstore to discuss how the cadence and randomness appear to be drug induced.
“So does your desire to pick the dirty thing up,” said my friend.
Elitist techie scum is the first line. . The notes on the page’s margins written in pencil by four different hands are about as interesting as the poem. My pic wasn’t able to pick up the best parts.
When my boyfriend got home, he set down his briefcase to look at the water soaked mud stained paper.
“Oh, look. You brought home more trash.”
Now what I want for Christmas. Watch it (or more, hear it) when I eat it trying to look cool.
My Pattern.
This is how much fine I’m having.
Our work room.
From classical authors to flesh "The rights," I said. From classical authors to flesh A plump blonde girl. According to the conscious even that duty is note worthy heeled shoes. The heels click. The apparitions, Leslie whistled after her, open. Not to give them any physical. "Business first," I said. The siege of Orleans. "Oh, boy!" Leslie said. And she's too fat. Who fought along side Joan. Knew her better than most. "One and a penny." "Tanner." "What'll it be then?" The more that she had a vision in God for safety, we walked towards the Saint of France. Smacked by lamplight, seeing trial Saints Michael and Catherine. Street-wash of the tower, balls of fur hearing the sneeze. A ship hoots life. A fog. Joan adapted her counsel which dates from before, right on the dot. Berry smelling of wet rabbits, self and Scottish auxiliary soldiers in the soles squelched.
The Rabbit Who Wants To Fall Asleep , by Carl-Johan Ehrlin is being marketed as a new way to get your children to fall asleep. Even the syntax, with it’s not so random bold print and sentence structure is designed to make eyes go in and out of focus.
The sign pointing to the rabbit hut saying, I can make anyone fall asleep, is ominous and the repeats of, you are very sleepy, I found unnerving.
Our children’s specialist can’t keep it on the shelf; further proof that moms in San Francisco have been desperate for awhile.
BEHOLD! Halloween is coming.
I’ve found some weird stuff in my bookstore, but this really freaked me out.