It's all in the game.

Nothing worked out like it was supposed to (But does it ever?). My laptop caught a debilitating virus, then the deadly tornadoes tore my hometown apart, and with days of clean-up to do NaPoWriMo's book didn't get finished on time. BUT, it will and I did write everyday, as planned. After the Storm will be finished (hopefully) soon. Until then, here is some stuff I've been working on. I plan on blogging about the disaster as soon as I get time to breathe. Until then:

Him.

Making me feel

less than adequate.

Making me feel

defective.

Fingertips tracing out

the cherry blossoms

on my arm that he placed

so delicately with the needle.

I told him that

I hated my arms.

Reddish, disgusting.

With a smile, he said we could fix it.

Like there was something wrong.

Something he saw flawed.

A defect.

Alternations needed.

Something that was less than.

Something that disgusted him.

In agreement that each imperfection

was a fault that needed mending.

Nodding my head to agree.

Knowing that the defect was there.

Knowing that there was truth in that.

Trusting him to paint something better.

Some days.

Some days I forget.

I forget that you are gone.

I forget that you are dead.

I dial ten numbers into the phone.

It rings and someone else picks up.

Redistributed number; apology; tears.

What can I expect after five years?

Magic.

I expect magic.

Wizardry to bring you back.

A spell cast and a chant.

Nothing, reveals darkness.

Reminding me.

Telling me truth,

instead of the lies that I seek.

Like knives cutting into veins.

Clean and precise.

Never too  deep, but never too shallow.

Just enough to feel something.

Paging through memories.

Memories of Easter 1994.

All of us out in the circle.

Sun shining; we look happy.

Memories of the museum trip.

The first one,

for which I claimed everything.

Love for the past; love for Egypt.

You showed me how to love.

You believed in me.

You are gone.

Where am I supposed to go?

How do I fit the pieces together?

Some fragments of the pottery

are ancient, missing,

and irreplaceable.

Because of you I wander.

Because of you I forget.

Because of you I am despondent.

Because of you I love.

Because,

because,

because,

because.

I have a reason to believe.

A reason to live.

A reason to know that there

is a brighter side to sorrow.

Knowing that there is tomorrow,

rising along with the brackish sky.

Diminishing the darkness

and being consumed by light.

Your eyes in photographs,

aged and tattered from years,

still as bright through

the black and the white.

Faded hand written postcards

with stamps from everywhere.

Penned with fragments

of phalanges lying beneath.

I know that you are gone.

I know that I need happiness.

But I can’t ever recall wanting it

as much as I need it.

I have a reason to believe that it

has been lost, but can be found.

I know this with upmost truth that

where you are now, you are smiling.

And happiness is around,

somewhere in between worry

and before hate;

and I know that.

It’s there, because

you lived.

It’s there, because

I’m still here.

Just the familiar sting, the general high, of exposure...

I don't know where to put this one. But I'm thinking about tucking it in somewhere at the end of After the Storm (the collection I'm working on for NaPoWriMo) as an exerpt. Maybe I'll figure this out...

People who write 

shouldn’t have

shaky hands.

Stableness for typing

and holding a pen.

A clear mind

for plotting storylines

and daydreaming

alternate realities

that are somehow

close to your own.

My hands are shaking.

My mind is hazy.

The cause is unknown.

Nothing has triggered it,

or maybe I’m blind.

All I know is that I have

to cut these fake nails off

immediately.

They keep me from biting them

and picking at the sides of my thumbs-

drawing blood and leaving raw,

exposed skin brushing with air.

But they have to go.

I know this.

I take the nail clippers

and press down.

Pop.

Crack.

Crack halfway down

through my actual nail.

That’s what I needed:

exposure.

Raw skin touching air.

My hands aren’t shaky anymore.

Just the familiar sting,

the general high,

of exposure.

My chest is tight though.

And I can’t breathe.

Panicking,

what will people think

when they look down

at my hands.

Half covered with acrylic.

Poorly clipped.

Raw, exposed, bloody hands

holding out with their last bits of intactness,

waiting on someone to notice

that something isn’t right.  

To take them

and know that

I do this unconsciously.

That I want to stop,

but don’t know how,

don’t know if I can.

Picking,

scratching,

needing to do this

or face the reality

of seizure like spasms

overwhelming the part of me

that needs to function the most.

The Other Side of the Moon

I wrote this earlier today, thinking about putting it to music. Suggestions?

The Other Side of the Moon

Nicole Easterwood

I don’t want to die without you in my arms

The single moment when I seal my eyes

And the gates of heaven open up for me

I don’t be anywhere but by your side

Protecting you when you need me to

And I am with you tonight

I don’t want to say the words

Without you knowing

That I utter them because you live

You said that you would take your life

If I ever left your side

So darling know this simple truth

That I am always with you

Fondly recalled promises you think I broke

When I took my last breath upon this earth

But I don’t think you realize

Just how many lies

The world has whispered to you

They told I wasn’t coming back

But I swear to you that I never left

And I am with you tonight

I don’t want to say the words

Without you knowing

That I utter them because you live

You said that you would take your life

If I ever left your side

So darling know this simple truth

That I am always with you

I remember the days were cold and windy

You had your big coat on

Frozen faces your arms were planted

Around my waist as we walked

With chapped lips I clung to you

And swore that nothing was wrong

(Because I knew the truth)

I couldn’t hurt you that much

(Because I knew the truth)

You found the evidence in the trashcan

Balls of red hair that had fallen from my head

All the endless questions

How long do we have?

How long?

I don’t want to say the words

Without you knowing

That I utter them because you live

You said that you would take your life

If I ever left your side

So darling know this simple truth

That I am always with you

I can see you are becoming weaker

With each passing day

The moments that you’re losing

By succumbing to your disease

And words you say up to the sky

Praying for the love of your life’s

Safety and asking God

To take good care of me

I don’t want to say the words

Without you knowing

That I utter them because you live

You said that you would take your life

If I ever left your side

So darling know this simple truth

That I am always with you

Alone you feel inside

But there’s hope

When darkness and fear collide

And time is running out

You are almost with me now

And I will see you on the other side

The other side of the moon tonight

Vacany & Website Launch!

I don't know what this is going to go along with, but it's the beginning of a new chapter for me and hopefully one that will end happily. Other than that, I have a website now. It's not much, but I'm working on it when I get the time and am learning in the process. Check it out at: http://nicoleeasterwood.yolasite.com/. Until then, here's to new beginnings and an early kick-off to National Poetry Month!

Vacancy

Nicole Easterwood

I would have never thought

spacious would be in my vocabulary.

A crammed and closed heart

Suddenly,

willingly

opened.

It came a time not to push away,

not to fight off.

Time to feel how easy

it should be.

The right person.

Wanting to see my phone light up

to mimic my face.

Giving myself room.

Room to breathe.

Room to think.

Room to feel alive.

Room to miss you.

Room to fall for you

and give you a chance

to mend the pieces

that have been broken

for far too long.

Most of all,

room to fill the vacancy.

The room that had

turned away visitors,

an underclass roach motel

remodeled royal wedding suite

just for your convenience.

How She Writes Changed My Life & the Antics of the Past Few Months

My family: Chad, Me, Jo, Sap, Chase in Fairhope, AL

She Writes changed my life in more ways than one. I began to post more poetry, conversed with writers across the globe and got the gig to start writing more forcefully- including putting my year book project on hold to focus on writing better instead of being one of those people who push out a book every couple of months (not saying those are not amazing, because there are Stephen King and Barbara Mertz/Elizabeth Peters/Barbara Michaels for whom I am an avid admirer). It gave me the community to think, feel and grow as a writer, to know that I'm not alone in my strife to write something that is amazing, unique, and raw. My debt is to Kamy Wicoff who is one of the most brilliant people I know and without her and She Writes, I would not be where I am right now. As said best by Virginia Woolf and She Writes mantra (A Room of Her Own Just Got Bigger): "Women, then, have not had a dog's chance of writing poetry. That is why I have laid so much stress on money and a room of one's own."

Now, getting down to business after a paragraph rant. I suck at blogging (and I also suck at using technology, even though I'm young- 20, so there are all sorts of shades of technology idiocy and I sometimes mirror all of them at once). I know this. I embrace it, as I should. BUT, I am going to try and improve. Trying new things like: posting more often, making them meaningful, and posting things I've actually been working on. Now, in saying that, I would love to say how overly STOKED I am about National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)! In starts in two days guys! TWO DAYS!! And I'm doing a verse story collection this year entitled, After the Storm. Here is the cover that I've made (minus the pastel-ish green for the binding):

Also, my "Meet the Author" piece is up on the Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don't Mix Blog ! "Meet Nicole Easterwood: "Black Waters", She Writes, and the Whole Damn Thing," which I am super excited about. Also, I was awarded the "Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award" by the phenomenal Brenda Kezar! So, a huge thank you and shout out goes to her!

Stuff that is on my "to-do" list:

- Transfer edits from Brand New Eyes and begin (seriously) editing Such Great Heights.

- Perfect query letters. I sent off one (multiple times) to Sarah LaPolla, but she never responded, even though she said she responded to ALL QUERIES. I sort of gave up on that one and am looking up, as always, without driving myself to insanity with worry and anticipation.


-To The Lighthouse Poetry Publication Prize- I am going to do this. I don't expect anything, but I at least need to see if I could write something meaningful enough to be considered. Plus the $1,000 wouldn't hurt either. I need extra cash for a plane ticket to Egypt! And, because of the wonderful site A Room of Her Own I also have this new goal.

- Literary Laundry- Submitting a small poem series (three pages) in hopes of being in the journal and nominated for one of these super cool prizes (yet another strike of optimism...which has, disgustingly been happening quite frequently lately)!

• Best of the Net
• Best American Poetry
• Pushcart Prize
• Poetry Daily
• Verse Daily





Me, Sap, and Jo in Gulf Shores, AL

Last, but not least, I took a vacation (shocker)! My sister, Jo, my cousin, Sap, and I all spent a week in the Gulf visiting family (especially our little brothers Chad & Chase whom I hadn't seen in six months), hanging out and going to the beach (while trying not to die on the way there and back- no offense, but the people who were driving in Gulf Shores and Foley are quite bad in the downtown parts). Also, I met for "California" people and had to learn two completely different languages while living in a house with people from three countries (United States, France, and Hungary) and three states (California, Alabama, South Carolina). We all had a blast cranking the music up and dancing, cooking and fighting over who's turn it was to do the dishes. Also, it's always fun to wake up and eat Little Debbie cakes and Sweet Southern Heat Barbeque chips. The Gulf is just as beautiful now as it has ever been and I should be heading there soon when all of the craziness of deadlines, prom, and National Poetry Month cease. Until then, I'll try to keep my sanity and new developing friendship going strong from across the state!









And so the drum roll begins...

FEATURED PIECE! TWO FINISHED NOVELS! PUBLISHED STORY! INDIE BOOKSTORE STATUS! POSITIVE REVIEWS! And now I embark on a new adventure...

There is so much love and light that 2010 gave me and here it goes...the big sha-bang!

FINALLY! "Brand New Eyes" is a done deal! After leaving it hanging and realizing during the 2009 NaNoWriMo stretch that it needed to be so much more than a month of mere writing could feed its eager mouth, I put it on hold until January 2010 when I picked it back up and began a long and tedious journey of trying to understand why the characters were the way they were. Days turned into weeks, which quickly turned into months of curtains drawn, staying up all night and sleeping for very few hours, if any, and then working more and more until I thought my wrists were going to collapse and fingers fall from their joints. I was a hermit...but that isn't really that different from right now. Except for that I was depressed throughout the entire process of getting the idea of the story onto the paper, it was an extraordinary ride and I hope that a publisher picks it up after I get finished polishing it. I really can't send my baby off to kindergarten in wrinkled clothes now, can I?

For those of you who have no freaking clue what I'm talking (and wondering if I'm a little crazy) about here is a short synopsis (that I am currently revising and making much more enticing):

Amelia, an aspiring art history professor, and Andy, her loving best friend, have an almost perfect relationship, except for the fact that Andy has kept a secret from her for twelve years and he takes it upon himself to point a gun to his temple. As he is standing at the top of his parent’s barn in front of Amelia, he pulls the trigger- Andy dies in her arms. The people who are intertwined throughout the story touch each other’s lives in conspicuous ways- some good and bad, others selfish and ambiguous. Throughout Amelia’s discovery, Sarah, Simon, Joe, Erich, Ben, Riley, Emma, Miranda, Daniel and Lydia tangle themselves in an ever growing mess. Set in the rural town of Alma, Wisconsin, New York City and Los Angeles, they all begin to discover a true sense of self through the experiences of HIV and AIDS diagnoses, rape, domestic violence, drugs, homosexuality, contemplative and literal suicide, family tension, and a terrorist attack. With the good, conservative girl becoming a roller derby badass/stripper and husbands and wives becoming adulterers, they begin to learn things about themselves they never knew existed and everyone that comes into each of their lives changes and lays rapture to a speeding car in a downward spiral. All are thrown into their own stories that mirror each other more than they could have ever imagined, building a new and more complete picture of the human condition and the effects of it.

Back in November I was featured on author Samantha Schutz's blog You Make Me Feel Less Alone. The piece, she brilliantly entitled, "I look in the mirror and I see a stranger." I was more than super stoked about this! But the piece is kind of sinister, I give it that, because the feeling of pressure, anxiety, and depression is pretty dark and also an extremely difficult place to be. Little things like this keep me going though and it gives me a chance to celebrate by blasting The Decemberists and Florence and the Machine throughout my house and dancing like I'm having seizures.


Thirdly, I finished a novel within a month! "Such Great Heights" is the spawn of a more than insane NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month attempt. Here is the synopsis. I have also began to send out query letters. (This is utterly terrifying, because I live by a "this sucks" mantra and "no one will ever love it as much as I do.")

For thirteen years Zoe has not understood why she got away with something while someone she loved had to suffer. She cannot wrap her head around that the one person she loved had to disappear. She still lives in the past even though her future is taunting its magic in front of her. It is just close enough to reach, but the desk she is glued to wreaks stability- a paycheck that pays the bills and her sister’s school tuition. At twenty seven she is still punishing herself and pushing everyone away. When her sister, Marissa, gets involved with the wrong people and ends up hooked on more drugs than Zoe can count on both hands she shrouds herself in her sister’s problems to deny her own. When her inner bomb explodes, Zoe storms out of the confines of the office and into a new world where all is anew. A chance meeting in the office elevator leads her to the person who will make her want to change and a grim diagnosis sparks her to confront her past and fears. She begins to think that there has to be a reason for all of the negative in her life. When she comes across journal entries and letters that help her write to an old acquaintance, she starts to unravel them. Sorting through her feelings about why she feels so depressed and anxiety ridden she discovers a place of acceptance, forgiveness and on the path to Nirvana.

Also, the anthology, "Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don't Mix," was released on December 15th through LL-Publications! This is beyond exciting! I remember back in August when I got the e-mail that my story, "Black Waters," was chosen- my sister and I simultaneously screamed and almost woke the entire neighborhood. I am forever grateful to my editor for the project, Nicky Wheeler Nicholson-Brown, for giving me a chance and putting up with me throughout the entire process.

Here is what "Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don't Mix" is all about:

The BP oil spill disaster in April 2010 prompted authors Zetta Brown and Nicky Wheeler-Nicholson Brown from the She Writes™ online community of writers to develop the charity anthology Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don’t Mix. All proceeds will be divided between charities that not only help the wildlife and environment, but also the people living in the area. With this in mind, they picked the charities of The Bay Area Food Bank (www.bayareafoodbank.org) and MOBILE Baykeeper® (www.mobilebaykeeper.org) to aid their continuing mission to help the Gulf Coast communities affected.

This anthology features award-winning authors, poets, journalists, bloggists, newly published authors, and talented new authors making their debut. The women and men contributing to the work came from everywhere wanting to do something to help the Gulf region.

The official theme of the anthology is “Conflict...Resolution optional.” Not all stories are specific to the South, but all have the theme of conflict and there is fiction and non-fiction inside. The stories, poems and recollections will make you laugh, cry, think—and some may even get you angry.

CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS: Jenne’ R. Andrews, Shonell Bacon, Lissa Brown, Mollie Cox Bryan, Maureen E. Doallas, Mylène Dressler, Nicole Easterwood, Angela Elson, Melanie Eversley, Kimeko Farrar, L B Gschwandtner, John Klawitter, Mary Larkin, Linda Lou, Kelly Martineau, Patricia Anne McGoldrick, Ginger McKnight-Chavers, Carl Palmer, Karen Pickell, Dania Rajendra, Cherie Reich, Jarvis Slacks, Tynia Thomassie, Amy Wise, Dallas Woodburn, Zetta Brown, Nicky Wheeler-Nicholson Brown

You can purchase it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, LL-Publications. VISIT us on She Writes, Facebook, AND follow us on Twitter, & Blogger.


So, I made a new friend from Kentucky! He is amazing, because he read my book. Wonder where??? In an indie bookstore in Morehead, Kentucky, that's where! I started screaming, not only because one of my books has achieved bookstore status, but because he looked me up and e-mailed me about it. This makes him super cool anyway, but then he went on to say that he loved my work. I almost peed my pants and jumped up and down and went and got milkshakes to celebrate! Chocolate milkshakes too...and you can buy the book that he read (Rollercoaster Road) and my other books on BLURB BOOKS!

Finally, the last thing that made 2010 pretty stoke-able! POSITIVE REVIEWS for "Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don't Mix!" YES! And they are unsolicited too. No one asked for them. These people were just awesome enough to care about the anthology that twenty-seven people poured their hearts into. So to these people: THANK YOU! You can also read them on Amazon!

Now, to start off 2011, I begin a completely new adventure: entering the publishing world (this entails finding an agent who loves my work as much as I do and getting on the track to having a novel in my hands), the "Oil and Water" Blog Tour (mark your calendars people: MARCH 2ND!), finishing the rest of my novel project (12 in one year...AHHHH), possibly moving to a new city, putting together a photo project and getting into a gallery, and, most importantly, trying not to go crazy while all of this is flying past me.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! May 2011 be the best year yet!

Dear January, Please Have Mercy on Me

December, overall, was an awful experience. Except for the "Oil and Water...and Other Things That Don't Mix" anthology being released, everything seemed to be in a downward spiral. I let myself down so many times that I lost count and just started self-loathing sessions that didn't help at all. It made the situation worse. Along with the loss of someone that I was close to, the holiday season struck like lightning at my face and I was stretched out and being pulled in so many different directions. One person wanting me at their house, another wanting me across state, in another country, another state of mind.

Disoriented. Yeah, that's it. I was disoriented beyond recognition and no one seemed to notice, until I made myself physically sick. Damn kidneys. But that's not the point. The point is that the book didn't get finished and I almost started to cry, because that part of me was dying and I couldn't save it because it had already slipped through my fingers and was flying, ever so swiftly, out the window. But I caught it just in time. Just in time to realize that I could play an intense game of catch up and kick deadlines in the face. So right now, I am working on two, YES TWO, verse novels that will hopefully be finished by the end of this month. I can only hope though...and bust my butt to make sure that I haven't been lying to myself this whole time.

And I got a new tattoo. A memorial for the people who have now shown me everything. How to be optimistic, how to love and how to live and breathe without trying. I also added a new addition to my small family: Isis, a five pound Yorkshire Terrier.

"My best friends mom passed away recently and I realized how short life really is. I mean, my Aunt Robin passed away when I was sixteen and I was extremely close to her. I considered her my second mom. With the recent happenings it just seemed to fit. The lotus rises up from the muck into this wondrous flower and cherry blossoms are only gorgeous for a few weeks and then fall. Life is about rising and falling, just like the lotus and cherry blossoms.None of us are perfect. We are all flawed and when we fall, we fall hard and when we lose, sometimes it's the greatest of losses, but we always keep coming back for more- from the muck, into the world. Breathing it all in and then falling with the seasons." -Flickr, http://www.flickr.com/photos/nicoleeasterwood/

12 Books in 12 Months...Do I Sound Insane Yet??

Yesterday I made a decision. One that will probably effect everyone around me, because I’m going to be the crazy lady that stays in front of her laptop 24/7 and wears her pajamas in the middle of the afternoon…well, that’s already kind of true, but that’s beside the point. I have decided to write a novel for each month of the year starting now. This November NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month- nanowrimo.org) has sparked the artist in me and made me really challenge myself. It goes to show that if you put your mind to something and bust your ass, you can make it happen! Like, really! It can make your frigging day! So, I’m going to write twelve books in twelve months. It sounds insane to me, seeing as to what I’ve been doing within the past month, but I think that I can do it and I want to see where it would get me- if anywhere. This is a discovery project and I don’t expect anything wildly grand to come of it. I just want to see if it is possible. So, I would love to know how many people think I’m psycho for doing this and how many think that it is possible, because when you are as naïve as I’m being, there is nothing ahead and nothing behind. No weights are holding me back and I am making a mad dash for my sanity!

Beginning this month (November) I am running and not turning back. So, here is the first cover I came up with for #1 SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS! Enjoy!

Only Nerds Read at Football Games

I am, apparently, an A class all around nerd. I am, I admit to it and I embrace it. Yes, I do read at football games I really don’t pay attention to which team has the ball or who has just scored. I have friends who care for that and they also point out that only nerds read at football games. BUT, I do have a very good reason- it’s my favorite book. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is my ultimate favorite! Well, besides memoirs and anything that Virginia Woolf has ever written and anything that relates to ancient Egyptian culture or literature. But I do believe that those are in two completely different categories, just so you know, this is an exception. Plus I wanted to re-read everything that relates to my novel so I will be able to make an educated relation when I begin to write query letters for my novel. (Basically, I don’t want to come off as one of those complete pompous idiots that think their work is supreme to all and either they don’t want to relate it to anything or they think theirs is too good. Mine isn’t and I know that; it isn’t supposed to be. I’m young and I’m learning. That’s all part of the process.)

Basically I really don’t know why I’m ranting. I should be working. This entails editing the novel, so it’s somewhat presentable and there is so much that is missing from the first draft. But, as I have previously stated, it’s a learning process. I’m new and I like that. I embrace it. BUT, I will not be trampled on because of it. By this, I mean, be nice and open minded, but don’t let some asshole come and piss on your parade and then call on a hurricane and then constantly smite you. That would be very bad for you and your project. When you’re new you are the only one that can stand up for your work- and you need to if you truly believe in it. You will, eventually, find someone who cares about your work and thinks it’s special and wants to be its aunt or uncle or something.

In saying all of this, to all the nerds: EMBRACE IT! We’re going to be the one’s signing their paychecks! (I got that from a Google image of Urkel from Family Matters that my sister printed off for school.)

After all of this- after I’d gotten home and went outside to work on the chapbook and I had come back inside the house- Mom told me that the game was on television and I was just sitting there, reading away. I think the least I could have done was smile and wave like the little penguins in Madagascar.

So Begin the Chronicles of Young Blood

My mind is beginning to think that I have more than a long way to go. See the problem is that I look down the road and I can see an infinite tapestry of possibilities. But, within the winding road and all of the bright and shining sun, lay all of the obstacles, such as huge rocks, pot holes and shards of glass that want to destroy my front bumper and make my tires blow into a million tiny pieces.  There goes my optimism and pessimism, the yin and yang of my mind at a never ending, till death battle, as the smell of burning rubber fills my nostrils.

It’s not that I am afraid of rejection; I actually accept it and welcome it with open arms. The letters that I may be getting in the near future are testaments to me trying to find a literary agent that believes in my characters as much as I do. All a rejection means is you haven’t found the right agent yet or your piece hasn’t reached its full potential. So, in this case, no, I do not mind receiving a form rejection letter. I actually am pretty excited about them. I think it may be the whole thrill of the chase/adventure/Indiana Jones complex I have though.

With this newfound novel expecting me to bust my ass for its life, resuscitating it and watching its little novel chest rise and fall, then taking care of it like a mother does her baby, I have found how stressful a life of writing can be. But, in the shadow of the stress and pessimism, I have been showered with the confidence to boost me over a wall and land on my feet- something Humpty Dumpty would be envious of. In the back of my mind I still wonder if it’s good enough for anyone and if anyone will ever care about the book I have almost spent a year of my life laboring over. In the end it’s all up to a nice woman or man in an office in a big city with so many other experienced and talented writers and their projects lying on their desks and the desks of all of the other nice agents who are working to push the work of those they believe in.  

So, in my saying all of this crap, I would like to introduce myself- Hello, my name  is Young Blood and I am SO ready to wrangle all of the stress and kick it down. But I know there will be many upon many obstacles and I’ve got my Jedi mind tricks and my Indiana Jones whip ready and my lion heart raised! And I have the advice of the amazingly knowledgeable, talented, nice and graceful Nicky Brown to live by:  “With flexibility and a good attitude you've at least got a fighting chance.”

“And I am a writer, writer of fictions

I am the heart that you call home

And I’ve written pages upon pages

Trying to rid you from my bones

I am a writer, I am all that you have hoped on”

-The Engine Driver, The Decemberists

“This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight”

-Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up), Florence and the Machine