dead roses

Contest joyness

Check it out! It's a link to an interview with the ever-fabulous Robin McKinley . . . and equally importantly, it gives me a chance to win a copy of Pegasus, which I've been DROOLING over since it came out.

Squee!!!
dead roses

Voices

Find your own voice.

That’s what they keep telling me.  That’s what they always say: to dig deep, listen, and then write the voice inside of me.  Listen to the voice of my heart, and write the story it tells.  
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dead roses

Another day, another death

        Four days without lithium; or is it six now? I’ve stopped counting, or caring, for that matter. Without the drugs to smother it, my sickness spreads implacably through the chemistry of my body. I can feel the thousand tiny alterations taking place: the shift in perception with each line, space, color sliding into new, sharper meaning. The narrowing of focus, until the arrangement of my long fingers with their jet black nails, wrapped around a white ballpoint pen, captivates me completely.

These are all the forerunners of madness. I had to learn the language of their warning, and tonight I watch as the force that follows them reclaims its old, familiar territory.Collapse )

 

dead roses

I'd be grumpy, too

'Tis the season for the rattlesnakes to shed their skins and invade my neighborhood. September's always fun around here, and thanks to the drought, this year's been a real treat. We're up to four rattlers within a 75 foot radius of my house, and that's just this month. Apparently all that water we use trying to make our yards look like something other than the Sahara is just too much for a thirsty snake to resist.

 

 

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  • Current Music
    Segovia: Bach Partita No. 3
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dead roses

Some old stuff

        Spring may be a beautiful season in some places, but Albuquerque is not one of them.  The wind is hot, dry, and unrelenting, snarling hair and whipping gritty dust and tumble weeds through the empty spaces that make up New Mexico. 

My dark blue Chevy shudders under the force of the wind, and begins to slide suggestively towards the concrete divider to my right.  I drag my attention away from the cigarette in Amber’s hand and back to the road in front of me, barely catching the end of what she’s saying.  

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