a few announcements (and a confession)

Hello, my loves!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Over a month, in fact. I’ve read that in order to be a successful blogger, you should post on a regular basis.

Welp. I have broken that rule many times.  But the blogging gods are obligated to forgive my absence, because I have some pretty damn good excuses.

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First, an important life update: Drew and I bought a house! We were hoping to buy a home sometime this year.We moved at the beginning of June, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect…it’s just that moving requires a lot of cleaning and packing and unpacking. It’s been an exciting–yet exhausting–few weeks; while we love our home, there are some maintenance issues that need to be fixed. Like, ASAP. And then I can finally put my design knowledge from all those episodes of Trading Spaces to good use.

Then–because when it rains, it pours–the real trouble began. About a week or two after moving, my car’s transmission died. After a few Google searches, we realized that a new transmission–and a few other related repairs–would cost more than my car was actually worth. (A 2006 Mazda 3 with a dead transmission? Not a hot spot for lots of cash money, folks.). I made plans to donate or sell it, and Drew and I came to terms with using one car between the two of us.

For a couple of weeks, carpooling worked extremely well. I pass Drew’s office on the way to work, so I’d drop Drew off in the morning and pick him up on my way home.

Then, one fateful day, when I was FIVE MINUTES AWAY FROM DREW’S OFFICE, I got into a car accident.

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Fortunately, everyone involved was safe. It just meant that Drew was stranded at work for a couple of hours, and that we were officially without a car. Currently, we’re using a rental car (yay, insurance!), but the insurance claim has finally been settled and I successfully sold my car. Our house still needs some work, but we’re in a much better place–mentally and financially– to handle it.

We also visited my family in Missouri over the Fourth of July holiday! We celebrated our family’s July birthdays, too. I did start writing this entry over the weekend…but I didn’t get very far. Basically, I was partying too hard to blog.

In other news…

I’m excited to announce that I am now a prose reader for The Cerurove! It’s a lovely literary journal that you can read online; the editors were kind enough to publish my flash fiction piece for their second issue, and so this community has a special place in my heart. We’re currently accepting submissions–we’d love to read your work!

These days, much of my writing time is dedicated to poetry. One day I read the news and did what any sensitive artist type does: I wrote about it. The result? I’m working on my first chapbook manuscript. It’s a critique and love letter to America, and it is both very difficult and very easy to write. I have no idea if or when or how it will be published–but I promise that it’s actively in progress. At the very least, I will one day share my work here.

Needless to say, blogging hasn’t been on my list of priorities.

But I also find myself frustrated with the blogging world. Everything–from the writing to the photos to social media–has to be perfect. You need to know your audience. You need to build your brand and use it to your advantage.

The problem is, I don’t know what my brand is. Am I a book blogger? An author and poet? A wannabe travel writer? A social justice advocate? An occasional theologian? In my mind, these things are intertwined; reading and travel feed my empathy, which affects my politics, which affects my faith, and on and on it goes.

This line of thinking does not fare well in hashtags or algorithms.

I don’t have the time or energy to build a better website; nor do I want my content to be perfectly curated.

I want to write.

I want to be me.

When I first started this blog, I wrote about whatever I wanted. I liked knowing that people read my posts, but at the end of the day, it was all for me. It isn’t the way to build a successful blog, but I find myself longing for this carefree freedom. Perhaps this inherent brandlessness was my brand all along.

I do have another post planned for my Read and Resist series, and I’ll definitely write about our trip to Iceland. In the meantime, I just want to discover everyday, ordinary magic. ❤

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A Poem/A Prayer

Due to my overactive imagination, there are some days when I have thousands of ideas for blog entries, article pitches, and stories. In the literary world, this is a blessing–but lately, it doesn’t feel that way. Call it procrastination or laziness if you must, but it doesn’t change the fact that I often feel frustrated and overwhelmed because I have no idea where to start.

When I do write, it’s even harder to tune out my inner editor or keep myself from cringing when I read past publications. As I am sure you can imagine, this strips writing of its joy–the very thing that made me want to write in the first place.

 

This week has been rough. I originally planned to write a post regarding the shootings… but when I sat down to write, I went to poetry instead. It has been so long since I have written a poem–I almost forgot how wonderful and comforting poems can be.

I decided that this is the best home for it. Consider it a prayer for all of us.

 

 

i am

a poet,

or maybe an artist.

      (it doesn’t matter.

       call me whatever you think

       sounds more romantic.)

i am

a dreamer

a starry-eyed wordsmith.

             (i think

              ‘starry-eyed wordsmith’

               sounds more romantic

               than ‘wannabe writer.’)

on a typical day,

i agonize over everything important

and potentially pretentious,

like oxford commas

or blog aesthetics.

             (is that witty enough for twitter?)

 but one extraordinary day,

 the smell of ink will

overpower that of gunpowder.

              (and maybe stories

             will save the world.)

my god,

what an anomaly that will be.

              (no one told me

              that it takes such courage

              to write.)

 

Have a lovely weekend, my friends. ❤ May you always create whatever brings you joy.

georgia life

It’s hard to believe that I have been in Georgia for over a week now. To tell you the truth, sometimes I still feel like I am visiting.

And then little things remind me that I do, in fact, live here.

Like when I ask Drew (my boyfriend) what our address is.

Or when I pick up medication at my new pharmacy.

Or when I see empty boxes that still need to be recycled.

Or when I remember that half of my belongings are still in Missouri.

The first week was hard–for reasons Drew and I expected, and reasons we did not. But I am so grateful for the ways we support one another. I am so grateful for the all the love I feel here in Georgia, and for all the love  sent from Missouri.

Drew often tells me that our lives are filled with joy, with some sad bits along the way. I think he’s right.

Since this is a shorter post (some things are meant for journals, not blogs), I’ve decided to leave you with this poem I wrote a few days ago. It was written for anyone who feels like hope is a little out of their reach.

Until next time, my friends. I promise it won’t be long.

***

We always wanted freedom

we wanted to run

to breathe in and fill

our lungs with stardust

because we believed

we were too wild

for ordinary air.   

From this throne we ruled,

chasing galaxies, casting spells

until we wished for what

only gods could grant:

hope and

love and

life and

all the things

that cannot   

break.

But we put hope in useless things;

we looked to gold and palace walls

for our salvation.

We looked for love and never found

true love’s first kiss

or a happy ending.

We tried to live wondrously,

but there is such a difference between

breathing and being alive.

One lonely night

we looked to the sky,

asking ourselves if we could—

maybe—

catch the stars

in our blood-stained hands

and keep them safe

in our clenched fists,

for we could no longer bear

the weight of the world

we had destroyed.

Perhaps this, we thought,

was hope—

holding tightly

to those shining

pieces of the universe

we couldn’t quite

comprehend

and perhaps

our mistakes were not

unforgivable crimes

but an angel’s way

of writing stories in the sky,

like starry maps that could lead

us home.