new work out: cathy's house

I have new work published today in Too Well Away. “Cathy’s House” is a creative nonfiction piece, a new world for me. Many thanks to Amber Thompson for her initiative and drive.

as a recovering baptist I want to love this

 

As someone who grew up extremely religious, it means something to read this. My parents taught us that happiness wasn't the goal. We weren't to try to do things that brought us pleasure. Our function was to please God and find contentment. Anything beyond that was an accidental bonus.

(I also grew up always waiting in dread for the other shoe to drop, because if I felt happy or experienced joy outside of church, I was probably sinning.)

Once, on a trip to Paris, I went to a restaurant that specialized in cassoulet. These were pre-vegetarian times for me, and I was beyond excited to sit down and order a pot of rich, bubbly beans and duck fat. The waiter came to the table, and I asked in my best French, if I could order. He was busy pouring a small aperitif, and slicing housemade sausage onto a plate. 

Premier, plaisir, he smiled. First, pleasure. 

And so I relaxed and sipped the aperitif.

tripping on tik-toking or 15 second movies

I'm having a great time browsing Tik Tok. Human creativity is amazing! I love how story telling can be stripped down to mere seconds and yet feels complete. 

Some gems:

@hannahjohnson927

Mama Mustache finds out about the mustache men’s romance! 🤠❤️🤠 ##comedy ##skit ##funny ##mustachemen ##mama ##sugar ##tea ##spillthetea ##sketch ##costumes ##characters

♬ original sound - Hannah Johnson

@ghosthoney

iced creams 😎🍦

♬ original sound - Alyoops

@enbiggen

Spirited Away

♬ original sound - lucylou.music

This last one is trippily wonderful, and there's even a how-to video:

@benlevinmusic

I feel normal

♬ original sound - benlevinmusic

the wisdom of tumblr

Seen.

On memewhore, about strict parents.

 

And on patron saint of shitposts, about bedtime fantasies.

Also, I kind of want this tent.
 

 

dreamtime

I've been re-watching "The Sopranos." This series was one of my favorites when it first aired. I was one of millions who screamed in disbelief at the series' closing credits.

Re-watching twenty-plus years later, a lot of the jokes and racist language seem less integral to the story than we all self-importantly believed back then. Ditto, the casual and very graphic violence Christopher wreaks on Adriana. There's also a heavy reliance on Tony's dream sequences, which I like less and less. Don't get me wrong, I'm a believer in dreams, in the old subconscious putting on unsubtle melodramas to try and get our attention. But here, and generally in fiction, TV, movies, dreams don't tell the audience much about a character that we don't or shouldn't already know. They're masturbatory exercises in writers and actors getting to do things the character never would do, within the confines of the show.

Anyway.

All that to say I've been having vivid, meaningful (to me) dreams. They're motivational. My mother and my grandmother made cameos. It's time to make some changes.

One, that a friend (DJ) died and their body was laid out in a room. I was trying to text the person's mother but couldn't get my phone unlocked. Then the Mom was there and my deceased grandmother sat next to me, all bright eyed in a fancy, silky shirt. The venue was a hotel in Spokane and there was an earthquake. The floor rippled but I wasn't scared. I hugged Gram. She felt so small and delicate. I'm just so glad you're OK, she said, and I knew she was referring to my mental health. Me too, I said. And I thought, I am free. I can do whatever I want.

Another: I dreamed that my job was chewing already-chewed food and vomiting it up. My boss, a cop, was being unethical. I was trying to jaywalk (one of my favorite pastimes) and I was told "The Major wants to see you." I went to talk to my boss, worried, and she tried to flatter and co-opt me. Then a dean at university flattered me too and promoted me and my mother was there. He pinched her butt as she left his office and I called him on it, outraged and he denied it. Then suddenly, I was moving into an apartment and it was an old restaurant and it was stuffed full. Someone had left all their work stuff in it--a desk, printer, office chairs, etc. 

A third: I dreamed I had 3 boyfriends. One a tall former-basketball player and bartender; another small and dark and affectionate. I can't remember the third. (When I told a friend, he said, "So just one person won't meet all your needs.") 

And then last night: I was driving a rental car and GPS confused me and I missed my turn. I was in Portland and the highway was littered with metal and body parts and big gaping holes. I was trying to navigate to a house but there was so much detritus I almost didn't make it. Then I was at the house and it was menacing and squalorous, possibly some abuse going on, a woman preventing me from leaving.

 

birbs, or the original contrarians

I was walking home from the grocery store the other morning and noticed a pair of crows cawing away on top of an apartment building. I imagined how their caws must have echoed down into the apartments below, and laughed to myself. Crows often perched on my chimney at an old apartment, screeching at each other, the sound vibrating into my living room. I'd light pieces of paper on fire in my fireplace just to make them fly away for a few minutes. But, they always returned and continued their avian conversation until they were good and ready to leave.

Watching this pair hop around was good fun, until I attempted to get a photo. One crow flew away as soon as I pulled my phone out. The other turned around. Shy, or contrarian. Or both.

writing lyfe

Here are three upcoming writer chats that I'm hyped about.

Tomorrow, friend and writing teacher Laura Kalpakian discusses her just-published (as in yesterday!) book on memoir writing. I studied short story writing with Laura at the UW. She's a wonderfully generous writer and reader and supporter of PNW authors. 

Then on Wednesday, as part of Seattle Reads, Brit Bennett will be talking with Jazmyn Scott about her book, The Vanishing Half. I read the novel a few months ago. It's as good as the hype. Better, probably. The characters are interesting and well-developed and complex, and I was so invested in the story that I didn't want the book to end. 

Finally, on October 10, I'm planning to check out another Seattle Reads event, the African-American Writers' Alliance Showcase. I've been interested in the community writing group and can't wait to hear and learn more.