I want to start with saying this will be my very first time writing an entry here that is addressed directly to whoever my readers happen to be [I know I know a few, but hey, I can’t see everything]. It will also be the very first time I will write in real-time pertaining to anything personal. I’m feeling strangely shy. I feel like I did as a small girl in an older sisters wedding…no matter how many times they told me it was okay and no one would remember my part in it anyway, each time they had me practice walking my little flower basket down the aisle, I did the same thing: I tucked my head down and ran. LOL. Not away, I knew I was supposed to walk down the aisle and had been honored by being asked to do so. No, I knew I’d do like they said, more or less. I just couldn’t help running. You’d think that flower basket was a football. Can you see it?
I was maybe 7, or 8. In some ways I haven’t really changed all that much.
This time, there’s no eye contact involved, so I’m going to attempt to act more graceful than I feel, even though I just told on myself.
To cut to the chase, Miss Demure Restraint has bestowed some very appreciated recognition on me, in the form of The Creative Blogger Award. I was one of seven blogs to receive the award from her. I must say that while I am deeply honored by this, Miss Demure has always given awards and recognition, either publicly with her blogroll and comments, or privately with feedback and support. She is truly one of the few people I know who loves a great piece of writing, a good piece of art, regardless of her politics, personal feelings, or prejudices [the only prejudice I know of for sure is her unapologetic disdain for Haiku, which I share]. Fair is fair, in her mind.
That said, she has singled me out [along with 6 others] and I find myself in very fine company indeed. So while I feel a bit intimidated, I’ll say I’ve always known that if you want to stretch yourself, hang out with people more experienced than yourself.
The deal is that I now pass this award on to seven deserving blogs myself. I know there are those who do not care for the whole “award thing.” I kind of know what they mean, but hey, we should just have fun with it.
So here are my choices.
As I have told him more than once, I don’t always “understand” everything he writes. Hence, the beauty in this fact: I love so much of it. And we seem to both agree on this: “understanding” isn’t really the point. I can’t even convey how profound a revelation, a gift, to hear another say this. To me, that simple concept sends ripples out to the many unresolved layers of my own life. It’s okay if I’m not understood, and it’s okay if I love what I don’t understand. It’s not the point. And namelessneed has a way of turning words that pulls you right in ‘til you don’t care if you know what it’s “about”.
The one without shoes is a natural born storyteller who is just finding her voice. The storyteller is one venerated in many cultures. Another “Necessary Other”. The ability to spin tales is something I believe you’re born with; a gift, not something you can learn. The craft of storytelling can be honed, only writing can be learned.
Even in fiction, she is brutally honest and painfully funny in that honesty. I admire this, and consider it something to aspire to.
indignant2 makes me laugh out loud at least once every time I visit. Sometimes convulsively so. I feel I have worked with every single person she writes of. She works with a collection of meanies and bullies, incompetents, ill-willed stooges and mal-groomed folk who ought to know better, and she writes about them. Presumedly, for her own sanity. But instead of just sounding cruel and bitter, she manages a dry wit I’ve never possessed and a never-ending ability to name her characters creatively and aptly. So aptly I’ve fallen off my chair laughing at the visuals. I’ve always wanted to write a comic strip much like her blog, with all the ne’er-do-wells I’ve ever worked with in my various work adventures. I’ve already requested that when the time comes she take on the task of changing everyone’s name.
I think indignant2 has a lot more balls that she knows. [Apologies for the graphic.]
Yeah, I know the man hasn’t posted since MARCH 19th 2009. But he still writes some of the most evocative stuff I’ve been privileged to read. Ever. I love his work, his words, his music, and I miss reading his posts horribly. He speaks to me on a level very few can, and he’s known a life few can fathom. It gets lonely there/here sometimes. Maybe soon he’ll finish percolating and honor us again with his presence.
Love you Ssly.
I read Reah’s poetry often and always look forward to seeing something new that she’s written. More than any other whose words I read she seems to be constantly growing, evolving and refining as a poet. I can’t wait to see where she takes it. Tales From Behind a Cushion is a relatively new blog that isn’t very high profile. I’m guessing Reah is more interested in writing than “blogging” and as a result, many of you may not have discovered her poetry yet. I encourage you to pay her a visit and see what she’s writing.
I don’t know what to even say about neilina. She is just beautiful, inside and out. I’ve never seen her. So, how do I know this? Read her words, is all I can say.
Neilina has been around for longer than I, but taken a few breaks. I always find her again, and sooner or later she visits as well. When I find her, I am invariably stunned at the beauty and imagery in her poems—the most delightful part of her blog. I believe English is not her first language, yet her work is so beautiful each word has it’s perfect place and her rhythm flows along with ease, carrying you with her to a distant place. I think poetry is her true calling.
Another writer that seems to take long breaks from blogging, but always comes back with a depth of words that moves me. My only complaint is that I am just greedy enough for that kind of thing that I wish she posted more often. Also selfishly, I wish I could read all she writes, as some of it is in script I can’t read. Still, I read along in my uncomprehending way, admiring the characters, their shapes and placement, knowing they say something lovely and stirring. Insanity is a recent favorite of mine.
The rest of the deal is I’m to come up with seven “interesting” things about me that you might not know.
So, here’s some stuff about me.
1. A couple decades ago, I ceased all forms of writing, including letters, apparently upon the death of a dear friend and mentor. All except for a few incidences of what I now refer to as blackout writing. Not drunken or under the influence writing, but secret even to me writing. Secret, then forgotten. Yeah, I know it’s weird. I pride myself on being fairly self aware, but I really had no idea why I didn’t otherwise write until shortly before I began this blog. I just knew I couldn’t. It’s been an interesting and sometimes traumatic ride. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle. It’s good to be back.
2. All my life I’ve hated the color red so much I would not own a red object. I mean, I was really disturbed by it. “Hate” is the only word to describe it.
It changed. Along with the writing thing. Go figure. I’m sure it’s very psychologically significant, but I’d rather not dwell on it or pick it apart.
I still am not all that comfortable around a whole lot of red, but I can appreciate it and actually have some red around me now. Certain shades of it are more pleasant than others.
3. I sometimes “see” sounds, or “hear” colors. Sometimes I also experience certain colors as shapes. I don’t know why. Kind of a crossed wire thing. I also occasionally see color on people. [Maybe this is part of # 2] And while many of you may know what a “supertaster” is, I seem to be a “supersmeller”. That supersmeller thing seems to carry over to detecting certain kinds of drugs on people or even in their systems—sometimes. Unfortunately, I don’t always know why I’m smelling things I shouldn’t be. Wow. I also cannot bear to look at certain textures or patterns for long, and some fabrics I cannot wear without extreme misery. I’d like to know why I have been given this extreme sensory sensitivity, but I doubt I ever will. I try to pay attention to it, and not pay TOO much attention to it.
4. I wear boots, almost all the time, if I’m not barefoot. But I can still run a good half mile in stilettos. Depends on the motivation [who would do it by choice?]
5. I absolutely refuse to eat marshmallows, marshmallow crème [ liquefied marshmallows, can’t fool me.] or any form of “Jello”. They are just wrong, wrong, wrong, and not meant for human consumption. Don’t be fooled, they’re disgusting and made of disgusting things. [Now I don’t have to write that rant.] My stance on this also applies to so-called cotton candy.
6. I once had dinner with George Romero. You know, “Grandfather of the Zombie”?
He was a delightful and attentive dinner companion, the kind that makes you feel you are the only one in the room. We were surrounded by accomplished and well known artists and actors, yet he remained deeply engaged in an exchange with me, someone completely unknown to him and 99% of our party. I was unable to eat, and he asked if I was feeling alright. I had to confess that after seeing Dawn of the Dead for the first time I was unable to eat certain foods for quite a while, and his presence had brought it all back to me. Some of the special effects in the movie had looked suspiciously food-like [pasta, which we were having], yet realistic enough to make me sick and scare the crap out of me. It was a high compliment, all these years later, and he was pleased and laughed a very warm laugh, for a horror monger. He ordered me some very nice cheesecake. It was a great evening, and no, it wasn’t a date, else I would never mention it. [I don’t kiss and tell.]
7. Man, I’m running out of things to say that aren’t overly revealing. Oh, yeah, I really am a blonde. I like it.
This doesn’t begin to say much about me, I’m sure, except that I might be a little weird. It’s pretty hard for me to tell you who I am since every person that’s ever known me has seen something different. I’ve always thought that had more to do with them than with me.
I’m extremely serious, and I’m ridiculous; will laugh with you until the tears come and we wet our pants [yeah, that one’s happened]. I’m soft, hard-assed, angry, gentle, sorry, happy, strong, broken. I hurt, I’m at peace, I rage and I console. I am impatient, but will listen as long as it takes. I can’t be one thing, even if I have seven ways to tell about me. I’m me. If you already know that, or even guess it, and are okay with it, thanks for letting me be. Me.