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{{I am enjoying this story and this character quite a bit. I’m working very slowly on it. I know exactly what I want from it, but it is taking some time to get it just right. If you have suggestions on improvements I could make, feel free to leave them.}}

Story Preview: “Haunting”

Sometimes glamour can distract a person from certain danger. Sometimes the thrill of a thing outweighs the consequences of that thing.

I was invited to spend the night in a castle while I was traveling through Europe. It was a promotional stunt, fueled by the long-held belief by the local people that this particular castle is in fact haunted. The building is quite small, made from a sand-colored stone and topped with a couple of weatherworn gargoyles — not the finest examples, but a reminder that this place is from a different time. I decided that this would be quite an adventure to recount when I arrived back in the Sates, so I went for it.

I was told to bring with me anything I might need throughout the night, but not more than a half-dozen or so items. The entire point was to make me feel a bit uncomfortable. I had decided by that point to make the most of this opportunity, so gathering the items wasn’t much of a chore. I knew what I wanted almost immediately.

I had a large journal with a black and grey patterned cloth cover, which I carry almost everywhere. I would use this to write if I was inclined to do so. I carry a journal around with me most of the time. Inspiration can catch me at odd moments and it is nice to have something handy to jot down ideas. Along with a few pens, I knew which two items were absolutely going to be with me. I had to consult my bags for the rest. I decided that a flashlight would be an excellent choice — loaded with fresh batteries, of course. I hadn’t packed one, so I’d have to stop at a store to get one. Realizing that the castle would not be furnished, I grabbed a pillow. I nearly took a blanket too, but the nights had been warm during my stay and I suspected that this one would be no different. The last thing I settled on was a jade pendant — an amulet of sorts — that had been left to me by my great grandmother. It is made of black jade and carved in the shape of a cricket. It has always been my good luck charm.

————–

I’m really into this story. There is more coming, but wanted to get a little snippet out there for everyone. There are a lot of confusing tense shifts. I apologize for that. I was rather unsure how to get it just right, but may move it all into past tense. The story is being told by the main character, as stated would happen. I think it is important to not use present tense for that reason. Bear with it… it is very rough.Continue Reading

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Having 2 jobs is really tiring. I’m not sure how long I will last, especially with my part-time job scheduling me 4 days. I require down time in my life. I hope I can make it work, but not at the expense of my sanity!

Jess, this next one is going to be great. I will work on it when I have some time… which is… ? eventually!Continue Reading

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{{this one really made me think, Jess.}}

hate (‘hAt): 1 a : intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury b : extreme dislike or antipathy.

That doesn’t seem to cover it for me. To hate something or someone takes a lot of energy and isn’t so casual as it is often used. I often use the word hate when I actually mean dislike (sometimes, I even say “I hate” when I really mean “I love but am afraid of what that means”). Hate, like its antithesis love, is a very complicated idea. It is a decision one makes — to actively withhold understanding, compassion, and love from another person or thought.

I’m fairly certain that to “hate” something other than a person or thought is pointless — and in fact, I’m not sure if it is possible. I strongly dislike things (dried cherries, artichokes, hot pink paisley, sandpaper), but I think it is impossible for me to hate them. Hate, unfortunately, is more rational than that. It is a notion based on a set of rules one has formed for themselves. Hate is a common factor in the lives of many people. Although I know I have been hated for being me, I don’t know if I have myself ever truly hated another person. Maybe I have, but it seems like I would remember something so strong.

There are quite a few organizations founded on hatred. These groups promote using this energy to alienate fellow human beings based on factors beyond the control of both parties. This is often cited as a “Christian view,” which makes me ill. To understand someone who lives with hate, it is important to understand that these types of groups exist. It is also important to know what these groups are saying. It is for these reasons — and these reasons only — that I have included a list of links to hate groups. This is the world we live in.Continue Reading

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I chose a small school to attend. I grew up in a college town, immersed in the culture of one of the two major schools in the state, but to attend would mean to live at home. I felt ready to be on my own, even if not financially. Rogers State University was only an hour and a half from home, far enough to be away, but close enough to visit at any time. Perfect. Over the few months we had been there, I was starting to really enjoy life away from home. I was only 18.

1998 had just started. I had finished my first year of college and was unsure of where it was all going. I spent much of my time on campus, eating veggie burgers and reading or writing in the small student union. If I wasn’t there, I was in class or working at the on campus daycare.

My favorite new class was Creative Writing I. And my new favorite people were James & Jerry. Both frightened me so much that I could hardly talk to them. James was attractive and brilliant. I could tell he was destined for great things. I had a huge crush. Jerry was slightly older than me and seemed almost lost. He was also attractive and I could tell he and I shared a secret. Eventually, I started talking to him and we were fast friends. We’d hang out daily.

Along with Jerry, that was the year I met my muse, Frank O’Hara. Jerry and I were in the same program at the college. Therefore, we had several of the same classes. American Literature was one of them. We had been assigned a project. I don’t really remember the point of the project, but I do know that Jerry & I decided to video them instead of delivering them live in class. This allowed for us to do more with them. It actually would turn into a disaster. Part of the project was to choose a poem. I found one I liked by a poet I had never heard of. The poet was Frank O’Hara.

I had fallen in love with the style of the poem. It seemed to really speak to me and I quickly became a fan. I researched everything I could about this new person in my life. I felt oddly connected to him and reading his words felt so familiar. I knew that we were meant to know one another, even if it would be posthumously, as O’Hara had died in 1966. It was much later that I realized that this new muse was gay. It all made even more sense. I had found someone to look up to, a writer to model myself after, and I shared so much with him.

Later, I became convinced that I had an even stronger connection to this man. Perhaps I really do. It seems nearly impossible for me to not have been someone who knew Frank O’Hara when he was alive. I could have been him, an admirer, a friend, a lover, a parent, or sibling. Perhaps, I was a coworker who always looked up to him, but something about the connection is far too real to me. Or it could have happened in the opposite direction. Maybe he is around me somehow. Maybe a friend of mine today is him. Or maybe, just maybe, this is all silliness meant to explain why I am so obsessed with a person I could never have known.

There is no way to know and I continue to be a devoted fan.

Sleeping At Lunch

I dreamt I was Frank O’Hara.
I softly kissed Larry Rivers on the forehead
and it was again Rachmaninoff’s birthday.

I took a walk along the familiar path
where I once stopped to type something up,
a poem perhaps or maybe just a note for you.

I detoured down to the apartment where we all lived,
that foul address. God, we were happy when we left!
I remembered a story Joe told and how it made me smile
through the haze of the lumped-together smoke.

I made my way back from lunch to the museum.
Mike had made a cake because they had all forgotten me,
but the cake was no good because Mike is not a baker.

And then I woke up. And I remembered having
been him, but not having been him. Imagine!

7.25.2004

Frank O’Hara believed his birthday to be June 27. His parents had chosen that day to conceal premarital indescretion. Actually, he was born March 27, 1926.

St Francis
for my muse

Your mother was wrong —
the pin was not so
tacky and I can
feel the pain of
disappointment in my stomach.
You believed today was
was your birthday — your
mother was wrong again
(not to tell the truth) —
to believe that she could
hide her own uncontrolled
desires. I think that you
must have known — have
realized at some point
Be free of the lie — love the
day, the day. Join me
in March for a party.

6.27.00

Eventually, I will include a small history about Frank O’Hara, but for now, I will leave you with my account of discovery and obsession with this important figure (to me at least) in American Literature.

The Poet

As I look into the face of a man
33 years postmortem, enough time for Jesus
Time enough to realize — to gain beliefs.
He isn’t watching over

he is part of me. I can
feel it in the way his eyes were blue and in
the way he was Irish — not fully, but enough.
O’Hara — O’Hara — O’Hara.

I praise him leaning
on a door or a wall. I praise him wired with
energy… too much energy.

He made me an insomniac.
He got away with it. If I make dots on
the paper — salty wet dots, it’s realization,
it’s discovery! it’s wow! And maybe I should
go to a movie, buy some flowers and a new
typewriter — to peck away at in my own way.
I long for lunch poetry and Joe LaSueur.

Come Frank, I am waiting.

1.29.00

Frank,

Your words have become a part of me. Everything you meant to be, I try to be too. I am your faithful disciple, your devoted fan, and your dilettante. My words exist because of you, as I try to copy your style and attempt to become you through the craft of putting words on paper. I appreciate that you existed. I am thankful that you came before me to show me the path.

Thank you,
Brian

Jerry-bear,

Oh, wait… don’t call you that. That’s right. I hope you know what an influence you had on me. You gave me the confidence to be myself and seemed to genuinely believe in me as a writer and as a friend. Not many were as supportive at that point in my life and I am grateful that you were.

I’ve always felt like I am in the shadow of your greatness, even now, having spent so many years not even speaking to you. The things you write about and the style in which you do it is inspiring and I appreciate having such amazing talent to look up to. Someday, I hope we can share the stories of our successes with one another again in person. I miss having you around daily. And I would love to revisit a shared piece, having gained much more life experience since the original one-act deal we wrote.

Thank you for being you and helping me be me,
Brian

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A lot of people have supported me very strongly in my writing. It would probably be impossible to list everyone and thank them all individually, but I can still try.

Dearest Jennie,

You and I are abandoned ships, floating in this sea independently, not being able to ride the currents together. I am glad to have reconnected with you. You are an incredible joy to talk to, even in this crazy online world. I appreciate your support on my goals. I am famously horrible at following through with these things, but you don’t seem to notice, nudging me slightly to do what I need to do. Thank you.

Someday, we may both find ourselves tied up in the same harbor, finally together. But I’m not certain of that. Perhaps we were only meant to meet and be friends from afar, one chance encounter and then a series of rediscoveries. Regardless of the universe’s plans, I look forward to knowing you throughout this life.

Many hugs, my little lapin,
Brian

Mom,

Okay, I hear you. I need to write. Don’t get me wrong, I really do appreciate the reminders that someone likes my writing. For a long time, I thought you only said these things out of motherly obligation. I am beginning to switch that thought over. It seems that someone who reads as much as you do wouldn’t encourage me to fail. You must really think I have a talent for this. Thank you for that faith. It is very important to me to know that you want me to succeed — and that you think I can.

Don’t stop encouraging me. I sometimes forget what my goals have been. Remind me as often as it seems necessary. You keep me focused on my task.

I love you,
Brian

Oh, Travis,

You are all too often the little voice in my head. I hate that about you and I love that about you. I’m always saying to myself “don’t be sorry, change your actions,” a useful reminder and life lesson. More often than that, I keep remembering that I could have written a book by now, another helpful reminder from you. You nag me to get things done. I really do appreciate that.

Thanks,
Brian

“Meems”

How odd that I would want to thank you for encouraging me to write. You didn’t think there would be enough money in it to justify it as a career. I know you didn’t mean it to be hurtful, but sometimes it was. It felt like you were reserving some of your approval until you could see success in this goal. What I took away from this, however, was a strong desire to prove you wrong. I haven’t yet, but someday I hope to still. To me, it now seems that your wariness of writing as a profession was a type of encouragement. Thank you.

Brian

{I think I will break this part up into a couple more parts. I’d like to thank many others, but will stop for now.}

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{{first, let me just say thanks to Jennie. You are awesome. I am so glad you humored me in this weird request. I so wish our paths wouldn’t keep wandering off from one another.}}

Story: Cappuccino

“I don’t usually read those “I saw you” personals. I’ve always thought they were a little creepy. No offense.” Sam nods, indicating that no offense has been taken. “But I decided to scan through them for fun the other day, and there you were… looking for me.”

After a long pause, the two smile slowly at one another.

“I’m glad I found you,” Sam says. The waiters in the closed restaurant mill about, acting like they have more to do than they actually do. They are trying to make Chris & Sam aware that they closed almost an hour ago, which is finally dawning on the two. They have been gazing at one another, trying to recapture the magic of their chance encounter in the café. They aren’t finding exactly the same thing, but neither is particularly disappointed in this date. It has been going quite well in fact.

Chris has said all the right things, complementing when necessary and laughing at the right parts of the jokes. Sam has been attentive and doting, stressing the many excellent qualities that are so obvious. They are completely captivated by each other in this one amazing evening. Everything between these two seems perfect.

The attempts to usher the two lovers from the restaurant are becoming less subtle. There is increased urgency. The gazing soon moves out to the parking lot, where only two cars remain. The cars are next to one another in a strange coincidence. The two had met up inside, having come separately and not knowing what the other was driving. But there they were, side-by-side sedans. This makes both of them smirk a little.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?” Sam asks hopefully.

“Yeah.”

The café where they had met is less than a quarter mile away and they decide to walk. They do this without much conversation, each analyzing the other’s mannerisms and imagining themselves happily married.

In the café, they both order a cappuccino. Sam’s heart races. The cappuccino started this love affair last Tuesday evening. It seems oddly important that the same drink has been ordered.

The two sit in a quiet corner. The café is relatively empty; it is late in the evening and the overnight crowd hasn’t started to show up yet. Both Chris and Sam are relieved that it isn’t as crowded as it can get. They want to talk.

Chris, being a little more talkative, nervously chatters about nothing in particular before deciding to share some background story. Sam learns about sisters and aunts and holidays at “Gram’s.” There is a mutual vision of sharing these things, even though the two have only recently met. Still listening intently to Sam, a smile slowly creeps across Sam’s face.

Sam prefers to not talk about family, as there is not much to tell. Having been alone for the majority of adult life, Sam has been searching for a family. Hopefully, Chris will satisfy this need. Instead of a family story, Sam talks about work. Chris is fascinated by the nuances of life in retail.

{okay, I created these characters and I just can’t get into them right now. I will update this one later. I also haven’t been able to determine the gender of either character. Perhaps it is better that they don’t have a specific one. It is more interesting to me that they could be either.}

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1. Why can I not stay on task and finish sorting through my stuff / cleaning my house? Probably because I am a little stressed out at the moment. I like having a clean home to relax in, but sometimes I just want to relax without having to worry about cleaning. So it has been lately. I just would rather wait.

2. What made me stop looking for a new full-time position (for now)? I genuinely like where I work. I don’t mind the quirks anymore. Oh, I assure you that I did when I started a year and a half ago. But I no longer am concerned about such things. I also have started to calm down, as I really needed to. Work is work. It will be difficult at times. What I really need is a way to escape. Heather has her books. David has his crafts. Nothing seems to fit. Sure writing is great, but the great problem is that writing is work. It takes a lot of time and energy. I love it and it doesn’t stress me out in the least, but it doesn’t exactly allow me to properly unwind. I need something more mindless for that. Since I started at Michaels, maybe I will try crafting again. There are so many things I can do.

3. What seems to be the job related issue? Even though I am not currently seeking a new line of work, I do believe there is a fundamental problem with me and retail now. And this is very recent. I have discovered office work. I feel like I have somewhat outgrown field retail as a career and should be working in a corporate office at this point. I love providing customer service and working with customers, but retail — almost all retail — involves tons of busy work and very little compensation for it. It was a very satisfying way to spend the last 8.5 years of life, but I may need to try something else for a little while. But not just yet. I want to give myself some time to enjoy retail again. No major career changes for at least another year.

4. Why do I make these lists? I make them to continue to write. If I make a list of something specific, I can usually force myself to write something. A list gives me a subject when none had come to mind. They spark creativity.

5. What is new with Brian? I am currently working on securing members for my new community site. I haven’t really decided what the theme is — and that will determine a lot. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. The idea started as a community of artists, but now it might be of “booksellers” or “opinionated people” or “people who have lived in Alaska” or “people whose last names only contain 5 letters.” It is still really open. Start the ideas flowing!!!

Hugs to all.Continue Reading