First Sentence of the Day: K.C. Mead-Brewer

“I’m alone in my apartment but I have the TV on so it sounds like a bunch of people are in here talking.”

— K. C. Mead-Brewer, The Joke (matchbook, January 2018)

Weathered 2: Still Manila

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Alice, Who’s Been Working for Tito Tony (with the cane) and Tita Aida Since Forever!

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The Manila Metro Light Transit (MRT) is very old and quite weathered. Here it is, above the main artery of Metro-Manila, the perpetually traffic-choked Epifanio de los Santos (EDSA)

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Son at Seven: Picture in a (Quite) Weathered Frame

 

#amwritinghistoricalfiction: Blue Water, Distant Shores

The language may be a bit portentous. Nevertheless, here is from p. 7:

So the story begins. It is a story of churning oceans, ships, dragon’s breath, siren calls. A story of leviathans and faith, about islands and the building of ships. About Hell and Paradise. About blood and fever. And greed, of course. That, above all.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

#amreadingpoetry: Bronwyn Lovell, “Advice for the Cold-Blooded”

Met Australian poet Bronwyn Lovell at Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig in 2015. A mutual friend, Jacinta Oreilly, gave self her chapbook, Chrysalis, last week, and self has been reading it in Paris.

Thank you, Jacinta! What a lovely present.

Advice for the Cold-Blooded

When wings are the largest
part of your body

you rely too heavily
on the weather.

Listen, then.
You need to know that

the sun will not
always provide.

You must steal heat
from those warm places,

let it take you
to the next blossom

then wait for sunshine
to lift you again.

On days when every
surface is shaded

(however paralysed)
you must force

yourself to move.
Produce your own heat

in tiny increments. Shiver
until you are no longer cold.

NOTE: Chrysalis was shortlisted for the Doire Press International Poetry Chapbook Competition.

ASCEND: The Daily Post Photo Challenge, 13 December 2017

It’s almost time for self to pack up her books and end another incredibly intense, productive stay at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig.

Her last hurrah: in honor of this week’s Daily Post Photo Challenge, ASCEND, here are shots of the stairs going to her writing studio.

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Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

Reading Last Night at the Main House

When Lise-Ann McLoughlin, an Irish actress and screenplay writer, reads your words aloud and you become a puddle on the floor.

From “The Rorqual,” self’s horror story-in-progress, set in the Bering Sea:

A large shelf of ice had just dislodged — calved — the day before in Hobart Bay. The sea water had risen by several feet. The immensity of the sound — a low thunder that cascaded off the sides of the snow-capped mountains — was deeply unsettling. Here and there, by the water’s edge, were tussocks of green on which grey tippled seals crowded, blunt snouts raised high in the air.

Despair gripped her.

“Can they replace him with a pagophilic?” the Captain asked.

Tamara bit her lip. “I won’t have a pagophilic. I’d sooner kill them than look at them. They murdered all my children but one. And all the people of the Black Hills.”

NOTE: Self invented this creature, the pagophilic. Somewhere in her story is the dictionary definition. But, the short answer: Pagophilics are mutants developed by the U.S. Navy in a top-secret (naturally) facility somewhere north. Something went wrong with the experiments, and the program was discontinued. A few of the pagos managed to escape and are roaming the northern wilds.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

270 pp

#amwritinghistoricalfiction

Father Leoncio writes to introduce himself, but Matias does not receive the letter, it loses itself somewhere in being passed from hand to hand, it may have lost itself even in the same village that Father Leoncio writes it from, he gave it to a servant who brought it to the larger town where there is a cousin going to Isla del Fuego, and somewhere on the way to the cousin or maybe even before, the letter gets lost. But it doesn’t matter, because when Father Leoncio shows up at Matias’s door, he is overjoyed, he is as happy as if he is greeting a long-lost relative, or a brother, or maybe he is happier than he would have been meeting an actual brother. Well, the long and short of it is, Matias is happy to receive a visitor. And when Father Leoncio asks if he can stay a few nights, Matias is even happier.

Transformation 2: Pamela de Brî, Studio # 4

At the Tyrone Guthrie Centre, Annaghmakerrig: Because art is all about TRANSFORMATION:

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First, the Empty Studio, the Blank Walls

And then:

Pam’s Last Day at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre

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Funny Scene, Transporter 2118: #work-in-progress #fantasy #dystopia #thefutureIthink

“I think I’m gorgeous,” she said. You do not have any idea how that sounds in hard, clipped Mandarin. Until you hear it.

She continued, “You’re probably thinking: Why couldn’t I have a transport in Tonga? Islands, humpback whales, warmth.”

I gaped. I had actually just been thinking: Islands, humpback whales, warmth.


Stay tuned.

Poetry Friday: Wislawa Szymborska

from Utopia

For all its charms, the island is uninhabited,
and the faint footprints scattered on its beaches
turn without exception to the sea.

As if all you can do here is leave
and plunge, never to return, into the depths.

Into unfathomable life.


The poem can be read in its entirety here.

Stay tuned.

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