haha so many messy feelings
"CETTE FILLE LA, C’EST UNE SOIE. (I AM SORRY FOR BEING SORRY)"
The Blonds, Fall/Winter 2013
Ever been bitten by the procrastination bug? As in, no matter how hard you try, or how determinedly you swear that this time - seriously, this time - you’re going to write something… the procrastination bug gets you, and you… just… don’t… write… anything. (And maybe end up opening tumblr and surfing mindlessly to stave off the encroaching shame spiral.)
If this sounds familiar, would you be interested in coming to an online group writing session?
You may know them as pomos, word wars, sprints, or boxes of doom. Whatever you call them, this is how it goes:
- Writers gather together in a chat room
- Everyone chats (or perhaps vents, depending upon stress level ;D) for a few minutes, until the host calls time
- At the chat room host’s indication, everyone states what their writing goal for the session is (e.g. to plot out their story; to hit a certain word goal for the day; to get [X] number of scenes written in draft)
- A timer is set for 25 minutes, and everyone starts writing. No pausing to chat, no checking tumblr, no answering text messages. Everyone just writes.
- At the conclusion of the 25 minute session, the host calls break, and everyone chats (or vents) for 5 - 10 minutes.
- Repeat steps 3 to 5 another three times to get a sweet 100 minutes of writing done, all up!
If this sounds like something you’d be interested in, please fill out this quick survey so I can get an idea of what days and times might best suit everyone.
(Also, I know I keep calling them ‘writing sessions’, but honestly? It’s for anyone - writers and artists - who’d like to get the ball rolling on their WIPs and feels they might benefit from the gentle - very gentle! - prod of a group session.)
ok feelings dump underneath and then i’m going to sleep
tw for shitty emotions and food stuff
when my grandfather died my father made me swear
on his grave
i would never forget
the language of my birth.
i was 4 so
suffice to say
the litany of my lifelong disappointments
because you see i was born under a different sky with
a different set of teeth, a tongue
they called too clu m
to ever make for
and by the time i learned
that a lithp
is just a lithp
and not a mark against the art that
ran over/through me
i’d long since burned
my mother tongue away.
but still i
proud, proud of my will, the strength of my resolve,
the untraceability of my
pan-pacific zero-accountability accent neutrality,
proud to be rootless, to be fearless, to be
and not knowing, then, that
no matter how many languages i f o rg e t
i’ll never scrub away this gunpowder ash, this
five-thousand-year history ere are ya from?
coursing through my blood&bones,
because they told me
"blood is blood"
or i just didn’t want to hear
but they never fucking said how much it hurts
to be living in a flash-flood tearaway world without corners in fear of
being carried/washed away, a world without handholds
(a lost cause),
how living with no roots is a tightrope act over a stranger’s soil that you
pretend to call
h o m e
how lonely it gets
(how very) .
i never managed to drop
that trace of
foreign ( xenos )
from my lungs,
born and raised ha h a
and now this sharp
&broken language cuts
with it’s edges knowing
i’ll never write poetry
my mother understands.