What I'm Writing during COVID-19

All kinds of plans happen when you think about quarantine.  

But most of those haven't happened because my family has a music club in New York City that we quickly transformed into a to-go cafe for espresso and pastries (Grandaisy pizza as of today! More walking meals to come.), and I've been working every day leaving little time to write, paint or even clean my apartment. I don't miss this one, but you can imagine the state of neglected apt. --with four grown people!  ugh! 

While I wait for the YA fantasy I drafted just as we entered into lockdown percolate, I've decided to rewrite a much older novel. Actually, my first "trunked" novel. It's an upper middle-grade magical realism, maybe a fantasy? I'll know after more revisions. 

Today's research 

Auroras

Butterflies

Cleavers or Goosegrass

Crows

This was the first chapter. 

I love writing for kids and teens and writing fantasy that'll take me out of this world for a time. With tragic news every day on social media. (I don't have a TV, thankfully) writing and reading are my escape! I just have to be extra determined right now and find the time with the added responsibilities. 

I wish you health and wellbeing. 

"health is wealth" as my mother often said, I know she wasn't the first to say it.  

wash your hands 

don't touch your face

keep 6' apart

 and remember 

I wear my mask for you and you wear yours for me.  

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April is Poetry Month!

I've unearthed volumes of poetry since digging up old diaries for the YA novel I'm working on. Many of the poems are in (desperate) need of editing. I've wanted to share a few for awhile. But I was scared. The poems below were written in the 1990's.  

Alone

I always write when I feel alone,

Inside my mind, there is a home.

The stories or levels, the steps the stairs, an attic holds you unawares.

-->

What lurks inside those shadowy places? I never really see the faces.

***

-->

Creating through thought and creating despair. I see you with others and try not to compare. Maybe it was the words we said. Or the hopes we shared. This caused my head to believe you cared. Childish, I know in my head, but my heart will pretend, and go till the end.

***

If it’s silence we want why create tears? In the hearts of millions a thoroughfare of fears, collapse under wishes unreceived, no need for greed.

-->

Cast away the mask one wears to cover, the face of hate not shared by another.

***

Tear apart

Fixed ideas

That chain you

Keeps you

Behind

Your stranger

Facing up

To breathe

The danger

Insanity

Not forced

To linger

Not wrapped

Around

Your little finger

Leave me to the heights

Of wonder

I’ll move aside

The rocks

-->

I’m under.

Reading Old Diaries And Preparing For #NaNoWriMo

I finally spent time this weekend cracking open and reading a few of my old journals. They sat in a vintage suitcase, deep in my closet. After 20 years, I first opened the suitcase in June, took a photo and ran away. Yesterday, gearing up for my #NaNaWriMo draft I began reading the first journal. 

Asking the oracle why I feel so poopy. Ha! Good question.

1988, my first year in New York City, when I was twenty-one, the year I lost my virginity and became pregnant. It was emotional. I knew it would be. Inside the suitcase, I found old Tarot readings I read for friends, which helped me learn the cards, found old poems and unfinished short stories, (very kind) class notes from my poetry teacher, at the New School. One journal left me hanging with an unwritten year! I couldn’t believe the suspense.

I’d forgotten most of that life and found it funny how I kept talking to future me:

“I just have to write through this pain so I can learn from it later".

 -- Oh, how I wish I could talk to young Karen. You FOOL! Poor kid. J I laughed and laughed. The voice alone was worth the read. It felt like time travel and such a head-trip. I recommend each of you, writer or not, keep a journal.

I’m sorry I’ve given up the habit. Writing novels and short stories has taken most of my writing mojo. I’ve tried and purchased a journal only to lose the motivation. I’m going to try again, inspired by what I’ve learned reading about the way I saw the world then. My memory alone wouldn’t have been accurate. 

I thought about posting an excerpt from a poem I wrote then but I’ll save that for another post.