nanowrimo – 2

Date: September 5, 2003
Music: Breaking Benjamin – Wish I May

Mom had the pantry door in the kitchen painted with blackboard paint when the house was built when I was little. She uses it to scribble random things–like WHY ME?–when she’s on the phone or to make a kind of grocery list.

Sometimes we’ll come through, and she’ll have written something like, TODAY I’M THANKFUL FOR–and we’ll all respond with something silly. Like one time, Daddy wrote BRUSSELS SPROUTS, and Steve put NO NECKTIES AT THE MARKET!!! My friends sometimes add stuff to it, too. Then of course are the times Mom thinks our house is Grand Central Station and writes so on the pantry door. Some smart-alec, usually Steve or Devon, will come through and list ticket prices and destinations. One time Devon put, “NARNIA,” and left off the ticket price. I added, “ONE MAGIC WARDROBE.” Which, of course, for almost a week after that, we all kept putting up bad Narnia jokes and puns.
Sometimes stuff like, “THREE MAGIC BEANS,” or, “NO LEAN,” or, “CURDS AND WHEY,” or “FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS” show up like magic along with Mom’s grocery list.

Sometimes Mom and Steve, or Daddy and Mom, or Donna and Steve will write mushy love notes on the door. Or Mom will go out to Grandpa’s and leave a note that says, “GONE TO NARNIA. BACK SOON!”

Notes I don’t like? The ones that say, “DESTINY, DO YOUR LAUNDRY.” I always want to write back, “CAN’T STEVE DO IT?” Well, I did once, but Mom didn’t think it was very funny. I still had to do my own laundry. I don’t mind, though; Mom has a cool washing machine and dryer get up out in the mudroom. I also don’t like the ones that say, “DESTINY, DO YOUR HOMEWORK.” One time I wrote that I didn’t have any, and Steve wrote back, “A PASSENGER TRAIN LEAVES HARLAN AT 55MPH, HOW SOON WILL IT ARRIVE IN CORBIN?” Devon wrote back, “DAD, PASSENGER TRAINS STOPPED RUNNING IN THE 60S. GET REAL!”

Oh the fun we have! It’s a good thing we all love each other. (Mom says that a lot, too.)

And sometimes what gets put on the door is good enough that Mom takes a picture to keep. Someday somebody is going to find that folder on her computer hard drive and think we’re insane.

disclaimer: poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.

nanowrimo – 1

Date: September 1, 2003
Music: Godsmack – Running Blind
Location: my bedroom, Baxter Kentucky

Mom suggested I start a journal or a blog. She even offered to get me a paid subscription on LiveJournal, but I’m not too wild about that idea. She said I need something to record my thoughts, feelings, impressions. A one subject notebook. A leather book like hers. She started journaling in seventh grade. I’ve tried thinking about twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and find I don’t want to think about it. Thank the gods I didn’t keep a journal then. It would probably be full of

~ I went to school.
~ Good thing I brought lunch today.
~ Jason Sizemore had food stuck in his braces.
~ Had to run a mile in gym.
~ Thomas Riley tripped Sally Baird in the lobby.
~ Broke a nail after school at piano lesson.

Then there’d be my birthday last year when my parents all told me I couldn’t date until my sixteenth birthday. Some birthday present. “We love you. You can’t date. Have some cake and ice cream.”

I don’t know. Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe there is something to this journaling thing. I spend a lot of time at my laptop anyway, so I thought I could just start something with Word. Maybe I can type in this one document until I’m 115! Maybe I’ll have a document that’s so big it won’t open any more! Eight squillion pages!

Yeah, yeah.

Blah, blah, blah.

disclaimer: poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.

darkness doesn’t have to mean evil

Usually when I think of Harlan, this is what comes to mind:

Life sucked. Cold rain poured on this gods-forsaken town lost in the hinterlands of the mountains. Thing was, Samantha Clark detested the small town, but it did beat living on the street, her only other option. The county was dirty, the people rude, the mountains claustrophobically close; the county had no bowling alley, no roller skating rink, and no coffee shops. And the rain made everything worse. Sami sloshed across the parking lot soaking her sandaled feet. She never dreamed a sky so full of sunshine could produce so much rain, especially when mid-August usually saw this part of the Kentucky landscape on the fringes of drought.

All this trouble for postage stamps. It just didn’t seem worth it, somehow. She stood dripping in the foyer of the small post office. After glancing around to see if anyone was watching, she stepped out of her sandals and dried her feet on the ugly green carpet before running inside the building.

And when I close my eyes and think of the darkness and how I felt when I lived there, and the mood I wanted for Midnight, this is what comes to mind:

when i think of harlan[snapped today from the Harlan County Tourism webcam located in downtown Harlan]

disclaimer: poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.

[disclaimer: this is an excerpt of my first book and may contain spoilers.]

toby reesor

He couldve tuned in, tuned in
But he tuned out
A bad time, nothing could save him
Alone in a corridor, waiting, locked out
He got up outta there, ran for hundreds of miles
He made it to the ocean, had a smoke in a tree
The wind rose up, set him down on his knee

A wave came crashing like a fist to the jaw
Delivered him wings, hey, look at me now
Arms wide open with the sea as his floor
Oh, power, oh

He’s…flying
Whole
High…wide, oh…

[from Given to Fly, by Pearl Jam]