Tag Archives: writing

In Which There Is a New Job and Popcorn


I made maple and brown sugar sauce with coconut oil for popcorn yesterday and it was incredible. I also paid enough attention to the Oscars to know that Anna Hathaway is weirdly widely hated and Adele is weirdly widely loved — at least according to Twitter, that the Onion may have issued it’s first-ever retraction after making a stupid wise crack about the most adorable child actor yet to be sucked in by Hollywood, and that the same Quvenzhané was also subjected to weird sexualization by MacFarlane who declared it would be 16 years before she would be too old for George Clooney. My conclusion: weird.

Then this morning there was Starbucks, coffee, and re-hashing of things I used to know how to do but don’t really know how to do any more. Without a doubt, I am a happy camper to be opening, but I have a feeling that I will be craving more than one 2 pm nap in the weeks to come. Unfortunately, 2 pm is about the mid-hour of job number two, so I’ll have to quell those urges, at least for the time being.

I made more popcorn tonight and used brewer’s yeast on it that I think was mislabeled (#annoying) because it’s not yellow and flakey the way it’s supposed to be.

It’s amazing how studying writing or reading closely as a part of your main employment will make you rethink every word you choose when you are the one writing. And rethink grammatical structure. And rethink metaphors, mixed or well-constructed though they may be. Even beginning a sentence with the phrase “It’s amazing how…” starts to annoy me. Like it’s too tawdry or something. Too tired.

However, writing begets better writing, at least from what I can tell, and so… I shall write.

And you may even see a transition to substance sometime soon.

But I won’t make promises, because that would be calling it a comeback a little too soon, I think 😉

I might owe my Dad a post on the New Girl. I’ll think about it.

And we can’t go on without Rules. Watch for that.

(Rules for) Living Life on the Lime (565)


A. Sing along.

B. Complete tasks you planned to complete.

  1. Don’t freak out if it’s not on exactly the right timeline — flexibility is good.
  2. But quit procrastinating.

C. Sometimes it is hard to understand what people are saying, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be interesting if you figure it out.

  1. For example: “Make Me Proud” by Drake featuring Nicki Minaj is good, but what is Nicki Minaj actually saying? I think there are words missing.

D. Be optimistic.

E. Sleeping enough helps you maintain a normal weight. So do that.

F. Include characters you are uncomfortable writing when you write.

  1. You might make a new friend.
  2. Or learn something new about yourself.
  3. Or you might discover that people are not so different from one another, no matter what identities have been pinned to them (e.g. black, feminist, gay, conservative, stay-at-home mom).

G. Drink enough beer.

  1. But not too much beer.

H. Go swinging.

I. Take pictures.

  1. Of the garden.
  2. And other stuff, too.
in the morning

in the morning 

A Life Reflection — Back by Popular Request (the Obama Campaign and a Voluntaryism-ist)


Apparently I am more enjoyable when writing about myself than anything else. Awesome. So I can just be a huge narcissist and people will read it up. (Get it? Like, instead of “eat it up?” Ha…ha…ha…).

Ok. There are so many things I could write about. Like, I worked for the Obama campaign in Colorado. I could write about that. Except I can’t really remember what happened. It’s just a blur of 90-or-so-hour weeks filled with calling people I didn’t know on the phone and having the same conversations over and over again. Not to suggest that I didn’t enjoy the repetition of conversations about whether Obama was ahead or behind in the polls, except, well, I didn’t.

I ate a lot of ramen. And a weird assortment of vegetables and one or two homemade pies provided by volunteers (no, I was not in the routine of baking anything given that I basically fell into bed every night). I lived with people who were wonderful Democratic supporters and we were all communal and familial and it was nice, if exhausting.

And about halfway through, they even gave me my own office — cool, right? My red county voted 40% for Obama, which was significantly better than predicted. Oh, rural folk, you are close to my heart.

In any case, it was an exciting deal. I like organizing things and having precise instructions. But it makes me wonder if I will ever have a long-term position in my life. Because most of what I’ve done thus far (professionally or in volunteer work) is bit-sized, small chunks of bigger projects.

Just now I was trying to think of the right parallel word for professionally in terms of volunteer work and it reminded me of a strange anarchist type person that I met in a pizza shop while I was registering voters. Of course, he and his brethren insisted they were voting for Gary Johnson, and by the end of the conversation he ended up sending me a link to the definition of the philosophy of “voluntaryism” that suggests all forms of human association in groups should be voluntary. It’s not a concept I’m completely at odds with, but then I also sort of think it’s a child’s philosophy (i.e. we should never have to do anything we don’t want to do), and I think there are real benefits to growing up (i.e. responsibility for one’s actions, making contributions to public goods even when we don’t really want to, etc). Granted, I have not read extensively about voluntaryism. But Wikipedia offers a offers a peak at it that only too clearly suggests it’s not much for social welfare. I’m pretty big on social welfare, social responsibility, that sort of thing.

What I’m really trying to show you is what my job was like, every day. When you start walking up to random people, registering them to vote, or trying to get them to actually follow through and vote, you open yourself up to all sorts of exposure to their ideas and world view. Sometimes they’re nice/thoughtful/grateful. Sometimes they’re opinionated/angry/confused. Almost always, if they open the door to having a conversation with you (literally or figuratively), people want to tell you what they think. And that is both interesting and occasionally mind-numbing.

If nothing else, I learned a great deal about things like voluntaryism, and I heard a great many personal stories about felons voting rights, veterans’ disabilities, shut-ins’ lives, oxygen tanks, illegal immigration, health care reform, Obama’s desire to alter the American flag, adoption, and religion.

So maybe I remember a few things.

Flash Fiction is Back: “Victorious” (100)

The photo inspiration for Friday Fictioneers

The photo inspiration for Friday Fictioneers

For what it was worth, she had won. As if siphoning life through competition, breathing in victory like oxygen, and being the one who stood at the regal apex were enough to justify any means. Of course, having passed the figurative tortoise, she was now standing cold on the pavement, watching her brother cross a different sort of finish line, family in tow.

The thought was commonplace; a holiday reflection prompted by a chance sighting. Laughter. What it would mean to have lost the salary and gained something else – something normal, unquantifiable.

And yet, she had no time for nonsense.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Soliloquy: Utterance by a person talking to herself oblivious to present hearers


When I suddenly ceased to blog, I had written 337 posts.

It was something of an impulsive decision, the way some people get tattoos. I thought about it, but then suddenly, boom!, no more blog (or ink permanently injected into the skin) and that was that. Although this is a decision, unlike tatting up, that is easily reversed. I could keep blogging. It might even be good for me. An exercise in continued continuous writing. The point, I think, is that the blog serves it’s purpose: it gets me to write when otherwise I would not. Sometimes I even edit.

In any case, here I am, writing some rather self-indulgent soliloquies on my blog.

I think it might be time to write some rules, or a list of something. I’m good at that. I’m also looking at alternative blog theme backgrounds, so um, if you have any free wordpress preferences/recommendations, there are a few of you regulars who could really influence this decision.

Ars Poetica: Homecoming


So I write madly
ushering the words out of my fingertips
no need for rain like shard of ice outside.
It’s already cold.
I’m already imagining tea
and one of the quilts my grandmother
spotted in the bins at Goodwill
promptly forgot
and spotted again.
An aged mind
not like good wine
but a constant inspiration
about the tragedy of a life long lived.

So I write
consider the consequences
of particular observations
and line break to remind myself
that I was a poet

Whatever this is,
it is reentry
not a flourish.
Surely, I am pleased with myself;
homecomings are a pleasure.

The Convenient Truth (Convenient because it’s Truth)


Twitter is awesome. (Thanks, Katay, for really introducing me to the concept).

More truth: I have a writing bug at this time of night. Despite being truth and therefore inherently convenient (for a blog post), this is simultaneously not convenient because I really like waking up early. I loved 8 am classes. It’s sickening, really, but morning is so much better than anything else. Except for night. Like around 11 or midnight. So that’s a super frustrating set of preferences to have. It’s like I need two nighttimes, and by nighttimes I mean sleeptimes. And both should begin around 1 or 2 and last until 5 or 6 (morning and afternoon, obviously).

That would work, right? I could become a super-in-tune-with-my-body-yogi-type-of-person. Maybe that’s not exactly what a yogi is. Uhh. Whatever.

Sometimes I like to do yoga in the morning, for about ten minutes. See? I’m well on my way.

Aside: Mailman, the mutinous kitten, is currently in a fight with something in the bathroom, which is awesome, because it just sounds like someone banging and crashing around and I appreciate that, while I’m alone in the house. I have a completely insane cat to protect me and surround me with noise and joy.


So last night, I had a bizarre sci-fi nightmare, which made me feel significantly less like a yogi. Hold on. That is very likely the question of the century. DO yogis have nightmares? It wouldn’t be very… I don’t know… calm of them. Still, this is an important question.

But my sci-fi dream involved a super psycho and malevolent woman (shocking, right? there was an evil mastermind) who would basically turning people into zombies (I’m not even into zombies — I have NEVER seen “The Walking Dead” or any of the all-the-rage vampire movies).

Cat update: Earlier today, he ran straight into the post that resides in the middle of the cabin. It was hilarious. Sometimes he climbs like a fourth of the way up it and then realizes the endeavor is useless. It’s cute. Now he is hiding behind the vacuum cleaner planning his next attack in my vicinity.

The point is that she was just injecting them with something, or forcing them to ingest something — you know, like a date rape drug — and then a little while later they would go all nutso, get crazy strong and eat the people around them. We’re talking Hulk-like, shirt-ripping strong and a ghastly amount of Beast-face transformations among my inner circle of friends. (Ok, subconscious, this is officially my message to you to get a little more creative when you have free reign).

It sounds corny here, I know, but when you’re dreaming and you’re supposed to be the hero who saves the world from all of your best friends who have been date-rape-drugged into eating your flesh, life is less than super fantastic and being cynical or critical is not exactly a cakewalk. What tv show is it where some character decides to change the usage of cakewalk? (I cannot remember proper nouns to save my life).

So I woke up and texted people who I hoped were in approximately the same time zone to reassure me that none of them were zombies and if they were, could they just get on with it, please? Because it’s five in the morning and I really need to sleep or die and that’s just the whole real deal. So follow the path to my blue elephant nightlight — yes, I sleep with a blue elephant nightlight because it’s scary having a mad cat in the house — and devour my flesh asap. K great thanks.

Mad Cat update: Mailman has become distracted by the vacuum cleaner and forgotten to attack my vicinity. Maybe he wore himself out racing around the carpet and running into walls.

I guess maybe all of this means I wasn’t meant to be a yogi after all. And that is the truth. Another truth? I would like all of you to cross your fingers for me. I’m not going to say why, but if you do it and it works, I will. Oh, mystery, what better addition to a free associative blog post?

Less Mad Cat update: He totally forgot the attack and came to purr on my lap. Ferocious. Wow.

Finally, we have come to the end of the free association. Now you know new things about me:

  1. I do ten minutes of yoga in the morning when I remember, which is usually when I’m sore.
  2. I nightmare about my friends turning into the Hulk (but weirdly, with faces sort of like the Notre Dame guy — pretty sure this is a politically incorrect detail).
  3. I sleep with a large blue elephant nightlight.
  4. I have decided that nightmare should be a verb in the way that dream is a verb.
  5. I appear to have a fairly inaccurate concept of what a yogi is.


Oh, and these are my favorite babies in the whole world: