So, a place for all the archiving of all the things I think of as 'writey bits' as opposed to the daily journal posts. Work in progress. Moving things takes time. Attempting to put it into some coherent order. So, for now, it's by subject and then oldest at the bottom.
Something, Someone Else
There has to be this, here on the site. It's not written by me but it tops anything I've ever written because of what it gave me - it is the most valuable gift I've ever been given. The most precious words I have ever received. I carry this in my heart but, also here, because I am forever searching for it, the strength it gives me, and the 'me' it validates. It is safely stored here.Love?
For every single one of them.Something about perspective, the person it was written 'for' shall be my little secret. It's here.
Something from my trip out to the island in April, about seeing someone after a very long time away from them, and the things you write in your head about how you want it to be.
A moment taken for a Retrospective.
Something on the fly, that I didn't have the words to (sarcastically) express five minutes ago. Although, in hindsight, I'm not so sure I'd be sarcastic about it. Right here.
Joel. More affectionately known as tub-tub. And less affectionately remembered as two years of my life. But he really does have the BEST laugh.
I was going to say I don't know who I wrote this for, but that's just a bald-faced lie. Let's just say I'm not going to say, except that it was during the OldDirtyBastard years. One Week.
Another old thing. Putting it up mostly for yj, and cause I feel like some mindless typing this morning while music blasts away beside the computer. It's a chronicle of a relationship, written in 1996, called Through the Seasons of the Heart. (hmm, I really wrote bad titles then, didn't I?)
Life
A bit of the darker long ago side of life called Ancient CursesWhat if Fate Dropped By for a visit?
Written during a trip back home, about my mother. Interlude One.
As was this one, after an afternoon people watching on the beach. A Jogger on the Beach.
Another from BC, at a place called Witty's Lagoon, near where I grew up. Inside the Trees.
A poem? A mission statement? I dunno, but it's here and it's called I Believe.
This one grew from something Tim said to me, (the first line) and composed partially in my head as I walked home from work. I don't know if he'd be flattered that part of our lunch conversation became this but that's always the chance you take when talking to a sometimeswriter/blogger, isn't it? Secrets.
This one's got no title. For file purposes, it's now called Realm and I think it's pretty self-explanatory.
Attempts at working out the meaning. You know, that phase we all go through from time to time - why am I here? what's my purpose? how did I get this way? They're all here.
This one is a post I wanted to keep, called Another Morning.
Hallowe'en thoughts. Trick, Treat, Perish, Pay.
Something from the discussion last night that I was thinking about today. For, oh, all different reasons, not just mine. Knowing.
I originally started this back in 1998. And over the last 5 years, I've tried and tried to finish it. I've been told I should have three parts to it, instead of two. And, honestly, I agree. Absolutely. But, I don't think I'm there yet. And adding the third part would feel dishonest right now. Revised last week, and I'm happier with it now but I'm not even sure I like the title....Black Roses. I'm being wishywashy I know. It's something I need to say, maybe I just need a different way to get the point across. I like my idea of meeting my god though, my version of my own faerie god. Also, my first kick at the 'dialogue' can.
You see, I was on 'hiatus' from well... working and then there was this ugly little lovebutnotlovebutcouldbelove triangle that took a quick left into hell and so I hitched a ride on a roadtrip with D to get out of town. Around the 18th of November, 2002. To Winnipeg. (for those of you not from Canada, think ugly, flat, ugly, cold, unhappy city in the middle of nowhere). We spent 10 days (me on some new medication that kept me wide awake for the first 72 hours or so) in a sleazy hotel and in the attached strip bar. D's best friend from out east, his girlfriend was a peeler in said bar. Now, this I have no issues with, but D's very very young girlfriend didn't think before she spoke and we spent a lot of our time at the back table with the mostly offended girls. Not a whole schwack of fun going on, really. Although some of my good friends in high school became peelers which I regularly 'ran' into (working as the only female sales rep back home), I have to admit it is a bit disconcerting to turn around in your seat to be confronted with the uhhh, parts...of someone you were just having a conversation with.... but I digress. I wrote during the entire trip and arranged it into a little story when I got home. It went ...ani lyrics (to indicate how I was feeling, as it changed) a snapshot of what was happening at the time, more lyrics, well...you get the point. The full deal is here.
Friends
This was written for one of the Fatboys. He was the first person I had a close connection to that died. Other people have passed away since, but I'm still not really sure I was closer to any of them than him. A month before I wrote this I'd found all the letters he'd written me and it had been on my mind. It's called Jamieson for lack of anything better.My old boss, whom I love to death, went home to help his parents clean out the cottage they'd sold, that had been in his family for a long time. And I told him that if he picked up a rock (refer here back to the whole rock thing in the bio) and told me a little story about why that place was important to him, I would write him a story. So, I still have the rock. And the lock. And so, here is David's story.
The Munchkin Chronicles
Most of these are actual posts rather than things I wrote outside the blog for the dog. She's too much in there to have ever written about seperately.Bedtime.
This one is A Conversation With the Dog.
My Lacey Bits start with #1
Winter, 2003 gives us Snowdog
Notes to Self
I've never previously numbered them, so let's just arbitrarily call this one Note to Self #3, Enduring Things.Note to Self#4, Character Indicators.
Note to Self #5, Tired Old Patterns.