Posts tagged “[redacted]”

Simple Little Bookworm

Posted on June 21, 2017

There’s a question I hate and it’s been asked a lot. I’ve mentioned this before. At lunch, I settled down to the stir fry. Made it the night before for lunch in hopes that my bank account will thank me later. So after reheating it, I sit at the table. My copy of M. R. Carey’s The Girl with All the Gifts is left to just the side. Meaning to read it as I eat, of course. Though, I’ve never been able to read at eat. Watch TV? Sure. Play a video game? Yup. Work? Why not? But not read. Most civilized societies know what certain social cues mean. An open book or wearing headphones/ear buds means the person is not open for a conversation.…

Categories: Personal

Tagged: College, Graduate School, Librarian, M. R. Carey, My Morning Jacket, School, The Girl with All the Gifts, work, Writing, [redacted]

Things to Come

Posted on June 5, 2017

Nothing dull ever happens at [redacted] even though most days pass at a slug’s pace. Friday, however. Man, fucking Friday. We often joke that life at [redacted] could fuel a television series for years—I imagine a cross between Seinfeld and The Office (UK or USA). And if our work life were a TV show, it goes without saying that Friday was the cliffhanger season finale. Maybe, one day, in the distant future.

Back in February, I started thinking about writing again. Something other than this blog and press releases for work. I’ve written a poem here and there. Nothing major. Just lines on the page that I hope will grow into something more. Of course, this gets me thinking about returning to college for an MFA in creative writing. It’s a thought that’s popped up several times in the past, but my bank account just doesn’t see it in the cards. Besides, there’s my relationship with Shaun that can be affected. My time is already divided between work and him with a splash of social life here and there. Throwing school into the mix will just place more responsibilities in the way. And right now, I’m trying to figure some shit out.

Then there’s the whole rust factor. This December marks the ten year anniversary of my college graduation. And all I have to show for it is a couple of press releases published in a weekly that doesn’t even hold my byline, one short story published in a college literary magazine, an essay published in a newsletter, this blog that only a few strangers read, and a job at [redacted] that becomes uncertain as the days go by. I’m not complaining. Not really. But something needs to give, right?

And, again, the realization sets in—all I do is complain about it. Complain about this stagnation. No one told me to stop writing. I chose to. No one told me to stop going to poetry readings. I sheltered myself. No one told me not to spend time on reading old works for revision purposes. I hid them away. I created the creative block—this Trumpian wall—in my mind to hinder myself. I don’t need a muse—shit, I wrote volumes of work before Jeanna. Before I even got laid in high school. And, yes, inspiration is nice; it’s just no one said it had to be romantic. Shaun inspires me every day to do things. I’ve painted more since he’s been around than I have in the years prior. I’m not good at it, but that doesn’t matter. I still do it.

Writing has always been my thing. As has storytelling. In elementary, I penned my The Munsters/The Addams Family-esque short story about a haunted house in which a family of weirdos lived. In high school, countless of compositions books went filled (and unfilled) with bad poetry. (I still have several of these, but I’m too afraid to even open them.)

It seems the trouble, lately, is getting started. That’s where the outline comes into play. In the past, I stood firmly against the outline. Writing should be a wild ride, a road trip without a planned destination. For instance, at the beginning of this post? No idea that I’d end up here. Just look at the intro paragraph. And I’ll by no means change it because that would mean changing this paragraph and I’m already done with this paragraph.

Will the outline help me? Who knows. But I’m willing to try anything. Either way, even with a road map, writing will still remain a wild, wild ride. It’s just that now I have an inkling of where I want to get to.

Categories: Personal

Tagged: Clutch, College, Creative writing, Fiction, I Saw A Darkness, Jeanna, Johnny Cash, MFA, Outlining, Poetry, Seinfeld, Shaun, The Addams Family, The Munsters, The Office, The Regulator, [redacted]

[Redacted] Strikes Again

Posted on January 6, 2017

[Redacted] will host an event that leaves me feeling uneasy. An event that borders on desperation. An event that plays on the desperation of others, actually. And while I want to go into depth about it here, I remain uncertain how safe this public journal is. With that aside, I should like to forget that I mentioned it here. A couple of years ago, I went to the assistant director with an idea. A shot in the dark, I knew, but something worth exploring. A Book Riot podcast had introduced me to the concept of the Human Library™. I did the research. Several venues across the nation—nay—the world—were hosting their own Human Library events. All with positive feedback, I might add. It wasn’t enough, sadly.…

Categories: Personal

Tagged: Book Riot, Dear Book Nerd, podcast, Prejudice, President-Elect Donald Trump, Robyn, The Human Library, [redacted]

Clearing My Head

Posted on May 9, 2016

I’ve been thinking about going back to school these last few months. [Redacted] just feels like a dead end these days, and even if I were up to getting my MLS, that is the last place I want to use it for. I’m not even sure if the fools in charge are aware of running an art department along with a library (because, let’s face it, [redacted] is less and less a library these days). I guess I’m bitter. With all the reports and memos and complaints filed at HR, nothing is changing. And while it’d be a dream to just up and quit, there are several responsibilities that need to be taken care of. School seems like a pipe dream. Besides, I’ve been…

Categories: Personal

Tagged: Future Learn, MOOC, School, work, [redacted]

The Problem of the Puer Aeternus

Posted on April 27, 2016

My mind is killing me. On the one hand, with Sertraline in my system, my mood’s improved significantly. While scientists haven’t found a cure (to my knowledge) for innate cynicism, I’m not as angry after work as before. Also my dips are spread apart (two since I started taking the pill in March), so that’s something to cheer for. But I’m still scatter-brained, if not more so. An idea popped into my brain (around the same time I started taking the pill) and, nearly two months later, I’ve not written one word on the subject. I have, however, taken A LOT of notes on the matter. I’ve used my journal more times in the last three or four weeks than I have in the three years since I started it. While I’ve ultimately decided that left pages are solely for note taking, I have filled quite a bit of the daily thoughts right page. And both sides are related to the idea that I had while reading (you guessed it!) the side effects to Zoloft.

Because at the tail-end of 2015 I decided to dedicate 2016 to exclusively reading science fiction, horror, fantasy, and speculative fiction, I’ve been reading A LOT of Lovecraft mythos and any related texts. A story here. A story there. And the more I left myself drift into the world, the more the idea was fed. And while I don’t have one single clue where I want this idea to lead, I do know that a story (or several) can come of it. Revision, I’m told, is the greatest thing a writer can do to his stories, and a lot of my old tales and back burner ideas are coming to fruition with a twist.

And while journaling gives me a sense of control of my ideas, I wish I could focus on a project at a time. That’s not, sadly, how my mind works. I’m brainstorming stories, poems, essays, and the layout of my and Shaun’s backyard garden. Trying to figure out how to finance the renovations that my home so desperately needs. Trying to figure out if getting a manufactured house is a better deal. Figuring out if I’d actually use a bench swing in the backyard, right smack in the middle of our garden, beneath the large mesquite tree. I’m looking into things that would help my kiddo learn his letters, his numbers, his shapes, and improve his speech. I’m trying to make this blog more interesting, but I don’t have a niche and I don’t think I’m ever going to have one. Is that so wrong? I’m paying to keep my journal public. Let’s face it though, none of this is edited or matters to the average reader. Most of you just come to read the old posts about Bailey Jay or Izzy Hilton (only to be disappointed by the fact that none of those posts have to do with porn).

Then there’s work. And I don’t really want to get into the cha-cha-changes happening at [redacted] because my level of apathy has reached all new heights. I haven’t heard a single word about the other library job in such a long time, I’m sure that it’s just a pipe dream. I’ll start looking for employment in other venues because I don’t know how much of the dramatic bullshit I can take (well, when it involves me).

Categories: Personal

Tagged: Bailey Jay, Depression, Gardening, H. P. Lovecraft, Izzy Hilton, Journal, Journaling, Reading, Sertraline, Shaun Damien, Writing, Zoloft, [redacted]

I wish I had a title for this

Posted on February 25, 2016

I waste most of my writing time searching for the song that will jumpstart the creativity. It’s eluded me up until now. There’s just so much clutter in my head; I bring a lot of my work-related grievances home. And these grievances usually deal with writing, which poisons my passion for the craft. I’m not a work writer. I tried working for a now defunct newspaper ages ago, but journalism isn’t my craft. It may be yours, but I don’t see myself thinking that way.

Because [redacted] can’t tell the difference between creative writing and press releases, she assumes they’re within the same school. When I took up the current position, the fight in me expired. She kept insisting that my creative muscle was what the press releases needed to get butts in the seats to all our events. Untrue, because every piece I’ve written since last year—and there have been tons of things I’ve written plus tons more that I’ve edited (i.e. rewrote) for others—has been sliced to its bare bones. Meaning, no matter how much flare and fluff I put into a piece, the newspaper editors take their scalpels and slice off the meat.

As of tonight, my anxiety is high. I’m slipping into a depression without a promising end. I’m grumpy 98% of the time. I’m making unhealthy choices in my snacks and lunches. And going outside is becoming too much of a chore. I much rather stay in bed and cry every morning when my alarm goes off than I would go into work. Because I can’t cry there. I can’t show a single emotion, because to do so would mean that she’s won. And fuck all if I let that slithering piece of dog shit think she’s won.

So if I fall off the face of the planet on this blog—the two of you who read this blog—know that I’m ok. Somewhat.

And Isabel, please let me know if you’re ok.

Categories: Personal

Tagged: [redacted]

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