Sometimes I like to play with a word, seeing if I can create something from it that has some meaning for me. It’s not an original idea, of course, but is fun. Fun for me, anyway. And sometimes cathartic (like this time).
Here’s one of those short little things I wrote, oh, maybe a month ago. It’s a simple one – you won’t need a cypher to see the pattern 🙂
Catacombed
As all the rest
Taken by surprise
And infected by fathomless eyes
Safe in armor
Tempted but not spent
Regretfully, in the closing hour
Orpheus “loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre”
Pulled by that force of nature, still
Home to the fields of lavender
Elegant yet raw, and unreachable.
WDC2014 was the first writer’s conference I’d ever attended. I learned so much, including how not-ready my first book was for shopping (me shopping it to agents, not the book going out to buy shoes, or something), met some of the most creative/dedicated/fun people, and left feeling like a member of a supportive community. So to say I was looking forward to WDC2015 is a whale of an understatement. I couldn’t wait to get there, and spent the previous week daydreaming about experiencing the same incredible vibe I’d gotten the year before.
But after an hour at WDC2015, I knew that wouldn’t be the case.
Temporary roommates still asleep in their rooms, I can’t get up and out because I have no key to get back in. Need to wait for them to get up to sort that out. MEANWHILE, the thoughts doth run!
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It’s a Saturday, and I’m on the other side of the world…
… Not in the coffee shop, gently handed a tea.
Not by the fireplace, the perfect spot for me.
Not hammering away at my new book,
Not having laughter distract me from work.
Not looking out on the slow river low,
Not knowing whether to stay or to go.
It’s a Saturday, and I’m on the other side of the world…
… In a small room, typing away.
Sheltered from the heat of the day.
Soon I’ll emerge, and go and explore
In part to escape the snoring next door.
And to distract from where I might be
Jealous about a trip to the trees.
It’s a Saturday, and I’m on the other side of the world…
… Planning the train route to go and view art
While wondering about my greater part,
My focus blurred by the echoes of steps
And the fall’s howl, stuck hard in my head.
Lingering visions of lavender and peach
Within arms length, but just out of reach.
It’s a Saturday, and I’m on the other side of the world.
Four years ago, in a moment of insanity, I decided to write a novel. It would be about fairies – or rather, three kids who trip into fairies and the sometimes dark, sometimes fun craziness that follows. I could see all the players in my head, knew their names, and knew what they wanted. Eventually, I finished the book and was ready to move onto trying to get it published.
In doing my research, I found-out about writers conferences and signed-up for a big one in NYC. I worked-out all the travel logistics, selected sessions to attend, and even had a game plan for meeting other writers and talking to agents and editors. I had every base covered!
So how the hell did I forget business cards??? Ugh.
Within five minutes of being at the conference, I saw people exchanging writer business cards, and quietly cursed myself. I spent the next three days scribbling on rips of paper, or giving people my day-job card while explaining… yeah, you get it.
I wouldn’t make the same mistake for this year’s conference, and the design popped right into my head. Character drawings. I wanted drawings of several of my characters for the backsides (MOOÂ lets you load dozens of different back images). There was, of course, one problem with my plan: the drawings.
Finding
I live kind of out-of-the-way in NJ, and don’t know a ton of people in the area. I reached-out to several promising illustrators through SCBWI, but it never worked-out. I could have drawn them myself – I used to draw a lot more than I do now, and they are my characters after all –Â but I get tired of my own vision, honestly. I was ready to see how someone else would see these characters, and one Saturday morning this past April, the universe provided me that chance.
On weekends, I write in the mornings at the local coffee shop (no, I’m not ‘that guy’. It’s just about getting up and being productive.) On the afore-mentioned April Saturday, their wifi was being a jerk (so was I because I wanted to Twitter instead of write), so I asked the barista about it. She reset it, but it didn’t help. “That’s OK. I should be working, anyway,” I said.
The word ‘working’ is the important one, there. That’s the word that prompted her to eventually ask me what I work on when I come in. When I answered, she shared she also writes, and is an artist. Now, if you read the previous paragraphs instead of just scrolling down to look at the pictures, you’ll remember I needed an artist. A short-time later, I offered her the job.
Thank you, universe. You rock.
The Payoff
Flash forward several months, A LOT of tea and coffee, some great collaboration, and a tremendous new friendship, and I have my drawings.
AND. I. LOVE. THEM.
Branchbuck, the leprechaun
Thornbeetle, the pixie
The Changeling
NO. SERIOUSLY. I. LOVE. THEM.
Whimsical, adorable, weird, with a hint of creepy where creepy should be. Perfect.
How much do I love them? It’s Sunday at noon, on Father’s Day. I’ve been up since 7AM’ish, sipping green tea and working in Photoshop to prep the images for use as business cards (black background, added gray shading, added character names). That’s after working on them for three hours last night after getting home from Art All Night, Trenton. I even watermarked the low res versions for this post – which I never do, but these’re mine mine mine! Now I’m going to call my dad, and then go out and buy picture frames for these bad-boys.
More Thank You’ing
I’ve already said it to her in person, but a HUGE thank you to the artist JRK – who wishes to remain anonymous on the interwebs, whose arm I nearly had to twist to get her to sign these, and who, when she reads this, will make a face and probably text me that she hates me – for stepping out of her comfort zone and taking these on. They’re not what I pictured, not how I would have drawn them, and EXACTLY how they should be.
Philosophical treatise on trees, life, and self-limitation in 3… 2… 1…
I’d just hopped off my train at Newark Penn Station and was walking along Platform A toward the far stairs – the recently rediscovered crooning of Alanis Morissette occupying my headspace. I happened to glance to my left and spotted, of all things, a tree.
Gorgeous, delicate bubblegum blossoms, gently-waving against the glowing yellow of abused safety rails and the broken reds of rusted tracks. And leaves, like green rips of skin, scattered across the mammoth gray spine of the station.
I kept walking, subconsciously aware of the crashing human wave rolling behind me – everyone rushing to get wherever their watches commanded them to be – but also reached for my phone. And then it was too late and I was in the stairwell, headed down to the marble shoebox that is the concourse, to go right back up to Platform 1 and the Path.
But I didn’t catch the Path. Not right away. I didn’t even try. I hopped the turnstile (because you’re locked-in once on the Path Platforms, apparently) over to Platform B, hustled back down to the concourse and back up to the now-deserted Platform A.
I took my phone out and took the above shot. And below shot. And several other shots, too. This was a few days ago. I needed time to think about why the tree effected me the way it did, calling me back to chronicle that moment rather than sleepwalking into my day. Here’s what I came up with:
Simply put, if a tree can grow under a city train station, what else is possible?
Or perhaps the question really is, what do I believe is possible?
We spend so much time limiting ourselves. “I can’t.” “I’ll never.” “There’s no way I could.” Tree seeds don’t believe that. They just know to grow – to flourish, even under the worst circumstances. Life doesn’t believe that, either. Where there’s even the smallest patch of earth, life is. And persists. And endures, without doubt or complaint. Like that stunning tree reaching toward the sky from beneath a smothering cage of iron and concrete.
If life, of which we’re all atoms, doesn’t believe in limitation, why should we?