Author Archives: alanaicapria

April 24, 2014 – NaPoWriMo days 23 & 24

Day 23

“The sun burns the top of your head. The light is too bright. You keep your eyes narrowed to block the brightness out. If you’re outside for too long, you’ll get a sunburn. Everyone knows that a sunburn can lead to a melanoma. Are the cells already mutating inside your skin tissue? You scratch your head and a small gnat bumps your forehead. You knock it away with the back of your hand. You ignore the cars rushing past you, almost knocking you over with their self-made wind. Concrete, asphalt, turns to sand. Beige sand. Off-gray sand. If colors can be described as off-white, why not off-gray or off-blue? It is a color that is just barely that color. A color that isn’t.”

 

Day 24

“The wall is the same as it’s always been. It is a wall. A plain, white wall. The kind of wall you get tired of so easily nowadays. Would it kill someone to have a hotel room with yellow walls? Maybe you don’t care for yellow as much as some people do but at least yellow would be unexpected. It would be a surprise. And then if there were blue? You could do so much with a blue wall.”


April 22, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 22

“I’m that giant sign screaming BEST HOT DOGS HERE! So you come to me. You always come to me. And you order more hot dogs and forget all the carbohydrate-laden fries. You don’t even bother with onion rings. What’s wrong with you? If you’re going to eat a fat bomb, then do yourself a favor and go all out. No one wants to eat meat when there isn’t something potato-like on the side. Starch and protein are supposed to be together. That’s why America’s favorite meal is steak and potatoes.”

-excerpt from SCT


April 21, 2014 – NaPoWriMo days 19, 20, & 21

Day 19

“So I will be gold, golder, and goldest. I will be golden and gold-infused. You’ll be able to pick at my gold with your teeth, with your fingernails. You can adorn your bedroom with pieces of me. You can hang me from your windows so that when the light streams in, adding to my glow, a beautiful golden light will be cast over everything. It will be the most natural golden light ever experienced. It will be so solid that you’ll be able to eat it.”

 

Day 20

“Maybe I sit on your daddy’s moldy lap. Maybe I meet your daddy in the middle of a moldy coffee shop, where we share a bagel with cream cheese and lox before beginning our clandestine affair. Or maybe we get lost in the middle of a moldy patch of park, where we uproot moldy roses and click our teeth together. We are moldy and this is what you’ve done to us. The mold didn’t come from your daddy. The mold came from you.”

 

Day 21

“It is still summer but the air is as sticky as melted plastic draped over everyone’s heads. You bat at the heat like you would water when swimming. Maybe that’s where you should be right now, leaping head-first into the East River and hoping you don’t hit a rock (or a bloated dolphin) on the way down. But maybe that’s the Gowanus Canal you’re thinking of. You get your bodies of water mixed up. You don’t particularly like going into Brooklyn anyway. Hipster Nation scares you. Everyone looks too tight. They look as melted as the air. What you want is a lukewarm hot dog swimming in bacteria, the tube meat nestled in a steamed bun and decorated with mustard, ketchup, and relish. If you’re feeling a little adventurous, you’ll go for the fried onions as well but normally, you stick with the old standby. It’s easier to have a ritual than to make up tradition from scratch.”

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I meant to post this weekend but time got away from me. I did scribble some interesting ideas down though. And last night, I started thinking of lines and had to write them down before I forgot. I feel like today’s writing has more energy than I anticipated. It could be because I went to NYC and the environment change was enough to jumpstart some creativity. There’s nothing like the hustle and bustle combined with a ferry ride across the Hudson to give you some ideas. On the reading front, I’ve only got a few pages left before I finish XO Orpheus edited by Kate Bernheimer and then I get to move onto another book in my to-read pile. I think I’ll read House of Houses by Kevin L. Donihe  next, then start House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. And aside from that, I have plenty of editing to get through. Yes, the editing hurts but I’m past the half-way point so I have to keep going. Until tomorrow, friends. Happy Monday.


April 18, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 18

“I am sitting in the grass by the water’s edge and I am glowing so brilliantly, my glow creates a double sun illusion on the water’s surface. You watch the light undulate with the water’s surface. Every ripple beneath the water causes my light to waver. I shimmer so brightly, people tan just by walking past me. I am not just sitting in the grass glowing triumphantly. I am reading. I am reading and glowing. Or, I look like I’m reading. Instead, I’m peering over the top of my book to watch everyone else. My expression is neutral but if someone were to give it some sort of emotion, they would quickly go with calm. So I look calm although I feel nothing. I don’t feel angry or tranquil. I just feel. I am the picture of neutrality. You want to go up to me, introduce yourself, but really, you don’t want to ruin my emotional state. You keep to the far edge of the lake, just around the watery bend, where you can pretend you don’t notice me even while watching me. You stare at the fish that swim close to the surface near my part of the lake. You pretend to focus on them intently, so that you have a reason to look in my direction. You don’t care about fish. You don’t eat fish. You don’t go fishing.”

-Excerpt from SCT

 


April 17, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 17

 

“You get confused about day or night. There is a disease that obliterates the Circadian Rhythm but it is predominantly found in those who are incapable of sensing changes in light. You can tell the light changes even with your eyes closed. The space behind your lids turn red, then yellow, then black, then red again. Sometimes, the yellow fades into a green. You never see blue and that bothers you. If you can see every other bodily color, why not blue? But you think about this for some time and then you realize that no matter how many bodies you’ve placed a hand upon, none ever had any blue. The arteries themselves weren’t blue networks. They were almost purple. They were always shaded with red in some way. But blue? True blue? You haven’t found a bodily blueberry yet.”

-Excerpt from SCT

 


April 16, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 16

“I caught a neutrino with my tongue and kept it as a pet until someone begged to rub it, forcing me to release my neutrino back into the wild. I have fractured both my left knees and attempted to replace the bones with rusted radiators (soon enough, my chest plate will go the way of an antique claw-foot tub). I have witnessed three murders saturated with bottled water and all three times, the murder was never caught. At the top of the Grand Tetons, I tore my liver out and threw it off the mountain peak just to see if I could find it when I got back down. An anesthesiologist told me he would start counting me down but I convinced him to use shapes instead of numbers (circle, square, triangle, rectangle, rhombus, pentagon, hexagon, octagon, nonagon… sleep). I saw you strip once and that meant you removed three layers of skin: the first layer was blue, the second layer was gold, and the third layer was chrome. I have a friend who eats ashes while drinking a glass of milk but I think I’ll have to dump her soon because she said her appetites are yearning for your charcoal form.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 15, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 15

“I want to pin you up to the sky like a constellation. The YOU DIPPER. YOU MAJOR. YOU NEBULA. You’ll be so beautiful, shoved up against the blackness, the white dots shining out, all heavy with radioactive gases, the only way we can really see into the light. By following radiation, we can see to the end of the universe. We rely on microwaves to tell us what we don’t already know. You locate the one blue place in the sky and decide you want to spend your time there. You decide it might be nice to pluck that little blueness from the sky and pin it on your lapel like a boutonnière. You can sniff it whenever you want.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 14, 2014 – NaPoWriMo days 13 & 14

Day 13

“A black hole (technically, an event horizon) is the square of the universal gynecologist, HERE BE THE LOIN, in the nurtured sponge. The square of the triangular ocean is thought to be sweeter than sweet, while the square of the broken back is more like a bitter fruit. The black hole is a chimera, most likely of the Brooklyn Bridge (metal suspension) and Andromeda Galaxy (starstruck neighbor) and has been forming since the Big Bang came banging onto the scene. Possibly coming from the galactic stomach, black holes were found in the atomic rip even before the dawn of time. Stick figure men placed their heads in the black holes and back squares; stick figure men promised to curb the black holes in one quasar or another. Black holes have been the favorite form of suicide since the advent of the space age. Black holes sometimes grow on trees or can be found at the center of the Bermuda Triangle (although these black holes are much smaller in size), where they rotate as fast as a tropical ceiling fan. The line directly before the event horizon can be devoured like a melon’s meat, or grated to give a raspberry-like taste to alcoholic beverages (this is especially handy for those who find actual raspberries too difficult to eat), in a method similar to rasping citrus fruit peels. The square of the triangular ocean is constantly sailed through (1/7 ships will disappear from the radar screen). Beginning in 2014, 343.23 thousand pounds of black holes (all static but theorized to soon awake with hunger) were harvested in a series of concrete orchards, the largest providers being found in Manhattan, New York and Toronto, Canada.”

_________________

Day 14

 

“If my back were painted on a wall along with a series of other backs, would you be capable of identifying which was mine or at least which were not? Have you ever tried eating a pink flower just to know for certain that the color is just that and never the flavor? What if I were to shed my skin like a snake to reveal gold-plated muscle beneath and then jump onto your abdomen to do a dance of the resurrecting dead? What if I decided that instead of the please-come-back dance, I decided to do the jig of destruction? What if I waltzed over each of your internal organs, rupturing them beneath my heels until the organic slurry seemed more like milk than bloody juice? What if I used the liquids to make a Shroud of Turin imprint of your body against a silken sheet? What if I wore it, then burned it, then ate the ashes so you would never escape? What if I did that? What if I did? (You tasted like barbecue briquets.)”

 


April 12, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 12

“You imagine a video game from your childhood where a frog had to cross the road. The frog was more epic than a chicken. The frog made you worry more. Chicken was too common. Chicken was everywhere. But frog? A frog crossed the road and then he died. Or, a frog crossed the road, paused in the middle, and got hit by oncoming traffic. Poor frog. He had no chance. He was green roadkill, almost on your command.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 11, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 11

“Now your problem is that you feel uncomfortable. You try to pull your sheets up to your chin and turn until your back cracks but no matter how you twist your spine, nothing happens. There is no reliable pull. That’s all you really need right now. The sort of bone noise that’s going to help you sleep at night. You roll from one side to the other. You stare at the ceiling but you can’t really look at anything because the lights are off. You stare at the dark gray flatness that is most likely the ceiling (because you can’t be certain). You think of crawling away, right out the window, and into traffic. It might not be so bad, getting flattened by vehicles weighing several tons. It would be like getting sat upon by an elephant. And who wouldn’t want to die that way? A quick little flattening. It’s not a problem. Or you can think of it more like being in a car that’s getting cubed. A few tons of pressure on all four sides and the entire body (metal, flesh, bone, and all) collapse into a perfect three-dimensional square. Maybe you’re in there. Maybe you’re not.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 10, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 10

“You’ve seen other things that glow. Lamp lights and street lights and red lights and bike reflectors and lights through someone’s bedroom window. Security lights. Garage lights. Side door lights. Car headlights. The lights beckoning you to a strip club. Lights glowing inside an oven in the ON position. Lights from the television. Lights in the hallway. Lights on top of skyscrapers (I’m talking about you, Empire State Building). Lights in the middle of urban centers (hello, Times Square). Lights glowing across some dark harbor in the middle of the night. Flash lights. Laser pointers. Park lights switching on at twilight. Stars although those aren’t part of your daily repertoire. There have been thousands of different lights, each in a different position, color, and shape. All those lights but you’ve never seen anyone illuminated like me.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 9, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 9

“Let’s gorge ourselves on porcine slop and forget how the meat started out. Let’s see how many forks we can devour before we evolve into tardigrades. They are, of course, the only immortals. They are the ones we have to watch out for. Send them into the cold vacuum and watch them smile. Add them to the lobster boil and see them crawl free of the bowl, spitting chipped crustacean shell from their mole-tentacle mouthparts. We want to prevent the great dying. The GREAT DYING. It is something everyone wants to see. It is the time when some mouths couldn’t stay closed for long. So they snored into the night, changed the orbit around, then fled the earth. Who cares where they went from there. Maybe the moon. Maybe Europa. If you look up at night, you might see them crossing paths on the lunar surface, bumping together, bouncing apart. If they hit hard enough, they’ll launch themselves right out of the orbit and be gone for good. Only the Sam Man will miss them. And he’s the kind of man you can’t miss at all.”

-Excerpt from SCT

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Today was a sad day for writing. I wrote about 4,000 words or so and at the end of the day, I decided to scrap everything I wrote. The writing just didn’t seem right. I also went through some of the writing from yesterday and moved that out of the main file as well. The problem was that the narrative seemed all over the place. It was jumping around and while that style seemed right with BBH and TQT, the new story needed something different. It needed more of a narrative. So while I’m disappointed that so much writing became unusable, at least I managed to figure some important story issues out.


April 8, 2014 – NaPoWriMo day 8

 

after Cesar Vallejo and Stephen Burt

All this pink sand conceals such white sand. I think I’ll eat Bermuda in three bites after flooding a barometrically-high prehistoric cave. I am going to eat Bermuda—you can’t stop me—after a split milk and charcoal storm, as soon as Friday starts sliding around the calendar’s four corners. I have been starving for ground quartz since we were exposed to burns and aloe, bottled water, drainage pipes, shipwrecked reefs, a course set for New Jersey—then Long Island, Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn. My brain gets confused. Someone tells me to come in for a kiss but I treat proximity like an infection. No one understands my self-contained tuberculosis ward. If I let anyone visit, there might be flower bouquets and teddy bears. No one would mind the coughing, the bloody tissues, the casket I keep as a bed. If only I would let extra bodies in, offer visitor’s passes as thank-you gifts. [Let us check your fever,] they say but I don’t need mercury to know I’m burning.

-Excerpt from WTUA

 


April 7, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 7

“You drove up and down dark highways weaving in and out of trees. There were always dusky goddesses there, beautiful women who had a sight shimmer but none that glowed as brightly as I. They taunted you with their blinks. Each aspiration of their lungs behind their breasts made you shiver behind the steering wheel. You eased the car towards them in the same way you would eventually ease into them. You beckoned them as they beckoned you. [Can you take me home,] one of those dark goddesses asked and you nodded eagerly. Yes, you would take her home. You would take her into the home and then away from the home. You would make her entire body a home. But it wouldn’t be for her. It would be for you. And much later, it would be for me. You lured her forward with a finger.”

-Excerpt from SCT

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: As I restarted SCT for the month’s writing, what had initially been a clear narrative vision became somewhat confused. I spent yesterday pondering the book and ended up deciding that I was going to break the novel up into sections linked solely by the narrative’s persona. The first section was devoted to my original plot. Today’s excerpt is from the third section, which is about a serial killer. It’s partially inspired by “At Luca Signorelli’s Resurrection of the Body” by Jorie Graham and partially inspired by some of the murder mystery shows I watch. Those aren’t the only inspirations but are definitely the driving forces behind the section. There will be six other sections and as the month progresses, you should see bits and pieces from a few of them.


April 6, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 6

“I poured the half-empty gallon down the drain and resolved never to drink anything white again. You showed me a monolith you kept beneath your bed as a sort of dreamcatcher against nightmares. Once, I saw you and a man was standing on your roof, just looking down at the bald patch on your head. He said nothing. You said nothing. I said nothing but backed all the way down the driveway until I felt it was safe to run away. You waved vegetables after me, large pumpkins, styrofoam carrots. You ate them and white powder came crumbling out of your mouth.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 5, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 4

“I have been trying to figure out all the ways I can tell you.

It is how one day, you will worship a golden uterus.

This has nothing to do with my never going to Vermont with you.

This blood is all I have.

You will never know all the places it has been.

It holds itself up in mockery because it is always patient.

We are in a foggy place, foggy as-as.

I have graded my womb with an A.

It is the purple meat of something that stinks of a sock.

If I had gone with you, we might have slept for a while.

But I knew to resist, even while stammering I-I-I-I-I.

The starving trees will swallow up everything I have.

It doesn’t matter if I tiptoe with my feet slippered.

This is one of those dark places I was warned never to walk into.

Least of all, I should never go with you.

Then I bleed to mark the trail and an invisible man whispers, [My, my, my.]

There are different bloods; not all of them mean that I’m dead.

Most of them stand as the ampersand, the withering and.

They protect me from confusing the sleep state and the living.

The wind blows hard tonight and rattles my ovarian children.

I believe, I believe, I believe I will become orange now.

In that color, I will be hospitalized while you stand with the they.

Female circumcision made easy via IV bag and no one listens to the uterine want.

I am wet with the sickly sickly and I do not want to.

I do not want to feel that first between-the-legs cut.

I do not want my witness to be you.

Without my blessing, an egg will be cracked inside a sterile pan, then out.”

-Excerpt from SCT

 

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Today’s prompt involved being inspired by “The Golden Shovel” by Terrance Hayes. Hayes wrote his poem using every word in “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks. By reading the last word of each line in his piece, you can read the entirety of the Brooks’ poem. So for my attempt, I used “Poem to My Uterus” by Lucille Clifton. Since I was focused on prose, a word from the poem is found at the end of each sentence. I only have part of the piece I wrote here but this section should read: “you uterus/ you have been patient/ as a sock/ while I have slippered into you/ my dead and living children/ now/ they want to cut you out.” I wrote the piece as a paragraph but broke it up here so that the poem-in-the-poem could be read more easily. It was an interesting experiment, one I’ve never tried before. And there’s a good chance that I might end up writing another piece like this. It’s a fun way to pay tribute to a poem you love.


April 4, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 4

“{Uterus! There, in the red balloon, every fleshy part I have sworn myself to. And lo, I cannot stop dreaming of pink losses, of purple beginnings.} {Somewhere south of the border, the mouths haven’t started twitching. Chainsaw me in half if you must, then scoop out the eggs like caviar. Just know that the salty blue is best, even if it reminds you of hypothermia. I want to fill my center with snowballs and brittle leaves in a show of seasonal paradox. The towers in West New York were never offered a proper sacrifice.} {Do you remember the neon place open 25 hours as devotion to skewed Leap Year math? The steak you order wasn’t really steak. A² x B² = the length of my favorite fallopian tube.}”

-Excerpt from SCT

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The prompt I used for day 4 is “write a lune.” Since I don’t write in verse, mine is a prose lune, using the lune formula of 3-5-3 to inspire the sentence structure. The first curly bracket section is 3 sentences, the second section is 5 sentences, and the last is 3. And that, friends, is how I balance writing prose with wanting to play with poetry form. The piece itself is inspired by the following: an article I read this morning about back-alley abortion; a brief trip that took me through West New York, thus bringing back many childhood memories; and the Pythagorean Theorem just popping into my head the other day.


April 3, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 3 + revisiting the ghosts of writing past

“I can be overly empathetic to anything that looks human. I used to cry over dolls trapped in their display boxes because they seemed so uncomfortable in those upright positions, always standing on tiptoe, their faces frozen in endless smiles, and no matter how brilliantly the eyes were painted, I could see the panic behind them. There was always a small crease I recognized, one that pointed at forced grinning. What was making them smile? Were they molded with a death grimace? Were they given the choice between smiling or bleeding? Most people would smile if it meant them staying alive. The dolls might be the same. I received two dolls as a child and screamed over each one. I was never given another.”

-Excerpt from IRLR (other-current project?)

I was adjusting some files yesterday and decided to revisit one of my old manuscripts. The original draft was fine but I decided that I could make it considerably better. When I first wrote the story, there wasn’t enough focus on who the main character was. She was smart but losing her sanity, yes. But who was she really? So I decided to rewrite the story and really explore what makes her tick. The only downside is that I’m working on IRLR while I’m working on SCT so expect to see little bits from both stories throughout the month as I switch back and forth.

 


April 2, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 2

“If you remember the breathing woman, you’ll remember that whenever her saliva pooled up, it was a turquoise green, the same shade you would get from copper leaching vats reacting to oxidation (this is the green upon the penny but the question is, do you even remember what a penny is?). Somewhere else, a demon named A.M. keeps mumbling, [Red or blue? Red or blue? Red or blue?] This is uttered while relentlessly flushing an overflowing toilet bowl.”

-Excerpt from SCT


April 1, 2014 – NaPoWriMo Day 1

“You want a place to rest awhile. Somewhere heavy with ghosts, but not. You don’t want anything that will screw with your appetite. And what an appetite it is. Oysters all day, pearls all night. You need to see ugliness clearly, then scratch at beauty. You go to the monolith and wait for the stone to give you the answers through divine (or terrestrial) intervention. Everything you need is tucked neatly inside chiseled stone. All you need is a mallet and crowbar to get through the layers. There’s a pearl inside but not one you’ve ever witnessed. Think of the immortal jellyfish, how it reverts back to its previous incarnations instead of growing up and facing death. Of everything that will enter the other place, the jellyfish will keep swimming. The jellyfish might grow a human head in the center of its tentacles and become the ever-breathing humanoid. Think of it: human mouth opening wide, taking in stung-to-death fish. The head, the mouth, are really just masks pulled over the jellyfish bell, but still, the human in whatever form is living. The human is creeping into the tide. The human is washing ashore. The human is being human-like but the human is also not breathing. Jellyfish don’t breathe, nor are they hungry for pearls but the human face changes everything. Or forget the tentacles. Forget every stinging string and send them off into the nothing. Leave the human face behind. Or let the jellyfish strings evolve until they’re arms and legs, human limbs. Attach them to the face. Elongate the chin to create a torso the limbs can protrude from. Then let that human swim. Let that human swim and swim, a stick figure in the ocean.”

-Excerpt from SCT (current project)


March 30, 2014 – Excerpt

“Look at this meal. Isn’t it lovely? Now like it. And like our philosophical thoughts of the day. Like our thoughts on the weather. Like our drunkenness. Like our outbursts. Like our pets, our grandparents, and our vacation plans. Like our social life. Like this. Like that. Like everything. Like until our fingers fall off, then figure out what other body parts to like with. Just keep liking. So we liked and were liked. So we like and are liked.”

-Excerpt from SCT (project starting April 1, 2014)

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m nearing the end of S’sC and will probably have the story finished today or tomorrow. Since the novel will be done before NaPoWriMo starts, I have to have another project ready to start working on. So SCT is ready to go. It was originally supposed to be a completely different story but then the original story became TQT and I figured out what I really wanted SCT to be. I think it will be the right story to work on during NaPoWriMo. Only two more days until the April writing binge.


March 28, 2014 – The dénouement of organization… or something.

So I had a few issues with S’sC the other day. I needed to figure out the dénouement for the story and so had to rely on my handy dandy notebook to work me through the issues. Sometimes things just make more sense when you see them mapped out in front of you, demonstrating each step of the way, even if they’re kind of generalized. S’sC currently has four sections and I think the story should be in another part, maybe two. But I have a clearer view of how the plot will end up. That’s how my process ordinarily is. Things start out really well, then I get to a middle point and start having issues. Once those issues are worked out, the ending becomes relatively easy to work on.

In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about travel writing and how some of my trips resulted in my having a travel journal and other trips resulted in nothing but some inspired short stories. I decided it might be fun to write a series of travel essays based on places I’ve gone but instead of being a novel such as “It was a beautiful blue morning with palm trees waving,” I’m going to use the place to inspire some prose poem-type essays. The first one I’m working on is about going to Bermuda because that’s the freshest location in my mind but from there I’ll be traveling farther down memory lane. I don’t know what I’m going to end up doing with the project once it’s done but for the time being, it’s kind of fun to take myself away from the obvious fiction of S’sC to the more “autobiographical” nature of the new project, being coined, WTUA. And since I like things to be relatively homogenous in terms of my writing, each “essay” will be allowed approximately 5,000 words for me to do whatever I want before moving onto the next piece. I’m planning on writing about 11 different places, 10 I’ve actually been (and remember), 1 that involves my theoretical presence.

All this writing is going into the same main document which is devoted to 2014 projects and I have a running list of project ideas on the last page so that I can add and scratch things off. Not including S’sC, the project list is at 19. Obviously I won’t be finishing 19 projects this year since April’s right around the corner and I’m only approaching the final lap for my second project. But at least it’s a list I have written down so that anything not finished can be transferred to next year’s file.

I really like the organization process I’ve gone with. It’s makes more sense to me than a dozen different documents (that would be for a single year, not collective writing) that only serve to confuse me. Sometimes I would forget exactly how a longer title was and would have trouble finding the document I wanted among a file of 700+ files so at least now I can just check a bunch of larger files. And by adding project indexes to each master file, locating things will be so much easier. At least I won’t spend an hour trying to find a project with a title I only remember vaguely to suddenly realize I had the title wrong the entire time.

So that’s where I stand right now, friends. Following this paragraph, you’ll find an excerpt from WTUA so you can see what I’m doing with some “travel” writing. The excerpt is inspired by waiting at the Hamilton Ferry Dock in Bermuda and watching the little fish hanging out in the water:

 

“Some people used to heave themselves into blue bays stuffed fat with small fish and if you look through a snorkel tube, you can see them all staring up at you. Then you have to ask: are you watching them or are they observing you? You’ll be better for your stomach pangs. You’ll understand why the ferry has to enter the deeper waters to avoid skinning the bottom. Your kidney can get shipwrecked, you know.”

-Excerpt from WTUA


March 27, 2014 – Excerpt

“I pace the floors, the hallways, the corridors. I walk up and down the steps. I look out the window, touch a doorknob, and move on. I pause in the bathroom, stare at the dirt-slicked bathtub, and consider filling it with water until it overflows.”

-Excerpt from S’sC


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