About Me

Saturday, February 20, 2016

New Year, New Blog, New Writing

Full circle. It's been almost a year since my short play was produced, a ten minute short, capably acted and reasonably staged, based on a character loosely inspired by the life and music of a man who became my unwitting muse, the connection described back in 2008 in one of my first blog posts as a self acknowledged writer and poet.

I've just transferred posts about writers, the writing process and creativity from my old blog to this new layout, in an endeavor to re-establish the valuable communication I once enjoyed with favorite blog poets, fiction writers, and artists. Though many of us know each other now in "real life" through social communication, there's something about these blog posts and the sharing of self that is lost in the random, quick responses we give in a facebook or twitter format.

After a long absence, I've been popping in to visit favorite blogs, dismayed to find that many of them are gone now, within the last six months or a year or two. Perhaps blog authors have done what I've done and archived their blogs, making them view-able only to themselves and perhaps select readers. I've listed on my sidebar those remaining active blogs that I enjoyed visiting daily or weekly, eager to read each new post for the content and the exchange of encouragement and ideas.

If you were a reader of my old blog, and you are interested in visiting a blog post you no longer see, just let me know. I still have everything... your words and the thoughtfulness and care supporting them were (and are) important to me.

Note: I'd intended to create a tab with a link to some of my poetry, as if first appeared on this blog. Instead, I've added a few poems back to this main page...


Friday, May 31, 2013

Poem: Chaff and Chatter

Chaff and Chatter

It’s an uneasy calm
knowing that walks
and scented flowers,
squirrels in scamper
and birds in song are
a way to soothe- but
nothing can replace
those porous bones-

Compel a rain stick
to produce a colorful chatter
before the turnaround.

The mind is porous, too.
How can you sieve the chaff
out of your brain, and leave
in place, unfettered,
productivity and love?

Sand sorters, with their
plastic screening, leave
behind the broken shells
and bits of twig and seaweed,
interesting to examine
and then discard. Perhaps
if you examine the bits of
broken memory, fragments
of stress, pebbles of fear, it
will be time to throw them
out. Discover what is new.

© 2013 Annie King

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

For the Writer and the Artist

I wrote a short story today, a complete first draft revised as it was developed and given minor changes, a word here or there, upon completion. It "feels" like it might be good.

I'll be working with it again and again before I submit it in less than a week for my first short story of two in the Fiction Writing Workshop I'd decided to take. I'd started out with a different short story, I would still like to finish, based in part on a character study turned in for the class. It has proved to be a longer process, and is a story, presently, without an end.

I enjoy the main female characters of both of these stories. Both are stories of relationships and tragedies; the first between two sisters, the second between a woman and a man. It feels good to be writing again. In the first short story, one sister is a social worker, and the other, an actor. In the second short story, the woman is an artist, and the man a gallery owner. They are defined by history and circumstance, more than their professions.

I'm beginning to learn, it may be possible to do this writing thing, not to formula, but, with "a certain set of skills" that have finally coalesced and can be applied; though I still write and enjoy writing, without any plan. I write to see what will emerge, letting the characters and the story shape themselves.

The requirements for this online university level class, along with considerable reading, discussion assignments and meaningful feedback, are to write and revise two lengthy short stories of literary quality with psychological depth. I am feeling encouraged.

I've written short stories and novel chapters with literary merit and psychological depth before, but not in a long time. It's not feeling easier, but I'm feeling more assured that what I write can be of worth.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Poem Reprise: Give a Thing

Give A Thing

Trust is a curious thing
You toss it forward
and it bounces back
in surprising trajectory,
knocking you backward
down a basement stair

You grab for the banister
Rearranging your outfit
you climb back up with
shaky steps, considering
the ways you may shorten
your skirt and reappear


© 2010 Annie King


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Give a Thing first appeared here. Thank you all, for your comments then, and any new comments, now.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Poem: Stillness

Stillness

I know why I am drawn
to statues formed of bronze,
or alabaster, marble white —

The wall plaque won at the age of ten
for a 4th grade spelling bee, an ivory Madonna,
calm child enfolded in soothing arms, the curve
of cheek, the fullness of lips that purse
to kiss, the contemplative love —

The coldness cloaks a warmth,
a figure cast or shaped from life —

Yet hollow are the sockets, with sight
beyond what eyes can see, an airy space
contained within that defies the solidity.

And when I see it, I am folded, too,
into that peace and formality, that death
in active sleep, a space for dreams.


© 2012 Annie King 4-7-12


When I wrote this poem, thinking of that little plaque, barely six inches tall, smooth and unseamed, with a hole in the back to place upon a nail, and the face of the Madonna and her young child with his bare arm, and the curve of the faces and the folds of her cloak and mantle, I think of how many times through the years, when I find it in a childhood box, I want to touch it, and how the same feeling is evoked when I see a statue, or even a photograph of one. There is something about an image captured in a tactile manner that differs from a painting. And yet, I do not touch it. I gaze upon it, like a piece in a museum, and cup it in the palm of my hand.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

My Peace I Give to You





I heard this song, played and sung live last week, and the tune and the words, convey, with sincerity, a simple thought: All I have to give is peace, and I give that peace to you.

I heard this song with my family and my friends at an Arlo Guthrie concert. He told a wonderful story about his father, Woody Guthrie, as a preamble to one of the last songs Woody Guthrie ever wrote. It was the final song in the concert and we all sang along.

Arlo says it's about the peace we feel inside, that makes dogs lick us and babies like us, and that if we give that little peace, the big peace will start taking care of itself, and that singing together, we're fixing things we didn't even know was broke.

If you click into the YouTube video, you can hear the whole story preceding the song, for a total experience of over 8 minutes. Fast forward to 3:42 to hear only the song and just a snippet of Arlo's intentions in singing it, as a gift to you and to me and to all of the world. Fast forward to 5:10 to hear only the song, recorded lovingly, by Arlo's wife, Jackie.

My peace is worth
a thousand times more
than anything I own...

My peace, my peace
is all I've got, that
I can give to you.

I give my peace to you.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Surfacing

When you've just finished a literary work, Margaret Atwood's Surfacing, and all you can think to say about it, is "It was good," you know your brain is tired and you have too much to do. It wouldn't earn you an "A" on a book report, and it doesn't make for a valuable blog post. I'm getting e-mails from people in "real" life, and I need to answer them. Next week is filled with visits with friends and family. Until after the Holidays, I need to take a break from posting for a while. Perhaps it's time to Surface.

In the meantime, here's a link to a New York Time's article by Joyce Carol Oates, Margaret Atwood's Tale, with an overview of Surfacing and other major works.

And here's a link to a post at a favorite site, Art of Narrative, with amazing and gorgeous illustrations by Maurice Lalau, The Romance of Tristram and Iseult.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!