Outtasite Outtamind

To correct my error in judgement of mixing art with family, I committed a crime. Years of writing for a few hundred bucks here and there broke me. When my cousin said she’d found a publisher for my latest novel, I ignored my gut and went with my blood, thinking that she’d take care of my masterpiece.

The emails from the publisher’s editors were sickening. They wanted me to change characters’ names, add a young adult “element”, and make the ending “lighter and snappier”.

So, I drank six shots of whiskey, broke into their offices, and took their flash drives.

*****blogger’s note*****

You could say this is non-fiction, in that, if this ever happened to me, I’d do the same thing. But for now, it’s speculative fiction for Velvet Verbosity’s prompt: Write a story in which a character finds an object that he or she has no intention of returning. http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ and Trifecta Writing’s “Blood” http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ 

I’ve been listening to Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, and Son Volt all night. I love that music and those bands so much. My favorite is Wilco. From their Being There album is the perfect song for this, Outtasite, Outtamind.

Shout At The Devil

To doctor the sickness, I command the spartan

my shield is a blog, my mind a sword

wordy grit, verbose drive, refusal to unharden

are battle scars against being bored

Waking from sleep unachieved

the battle against idle hands and mind

builds superfluous force of fighting need

to shout at my devil for peace I never find

****blogger’s note****

Something different today, a lyric free form poem about my daily fight against laziness combined with an anxiety disorder. This ia a double prompted poem for Ketchup sisters, Melissa and Michelle, http://accordingtomags.blogspot.com/2013/01/ketchup-with-us-10.html as well as Trifecta Writing’s “idle” http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

Here’s the Crue, crank it.

You Can’t Count On Me

Last time on Soul To Body: https://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/just-what-i-needed/

His crossed arms answered her question before he spoke.

“Well, Violet doesn’t need to know you’re with me. I’ve never eaten here so, why don’t you order for us?

Mallory fidgeted with her hair, separating the blonde streaks from the auburn while smiling at the waitress who approached the table. He eyed the waitress’ right arm sleeve of tattoos

“We’ll have BLTs and sweet teas and I like your ink.”

The waitress smiled and mouthed thank you. He caught Mallory’s eyes shoot darts at the her then lighten when she looked at him.

“Mallory, I like tattoos. I have seven.”

She grinned and played with her hair again.

“Oh, I do too. I don’t have any but I like them. Tattoos are sexy, especially on men.”

The conversation was awkward. He watched her struggle to recover. She held her breath. He tried to save the moment because they hadn’t eaten, yet.

“I think you’d look great with some ink.”

Mallory exhaled and then gave a wide grin. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the old, round metal table.

“I know this is really forward, and you’ll have to figure out someway to keep it from your daughter but my girlfriend at work has two tickets to the Counting Crows show.”

He squirmed in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Jake! Jake Hanna?”

He remembered the male voice calling his name in the Atlanta airport on the way home from the Mexican vacation where he met his late wife, Camille.

“Yeah, I’m Jake Hanna.”

He shuffled and looked at Camille, who put her hands on her curvy hips and raised her eyebrows.

“You’re famous Jake?”

He laughed and turned to the man.

“It’s me, Gary Boggs, from Smyth’s Olde Pub. I used to work there. I remember your band Boxer Ego. I heard you guys opened for Counting Crows then broke up. That sucks, man. What happened?”

Embarrassed he looked over his shoulder at Camille, who smirked, waiting for his explanation.

“Oh Gary, you know. Jimmy quit, Jody got married. Shoulda known we’ve never get far.”

Gary gave a blank look and shook his head. Camille began laughing. She walked over to Jake and whispered in his left ear.

“I don’t think your friend got the Bryan Adams song reference. Nice to know I fell in love with a musician in Mexico.”

He picked up his right hand and touched her face. They kissed by the baggage carousel.

“Jake, so, do you want to go to the concert?”

He opened his eyes and looked into Mallory’s anxious green eyes. His picked up his recently delivered sweet tea and swallowed a moderate amount.

“Yeah, I’ll go. You can count on me.”

This is a new episode of Soul To Body. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: https://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/soul-to-body/ This is also my answer to the StudioThirtyPlus prompt “she held her breath” and Write On Edge’s prompt of 450 words emphasizing dialogue – http://writeonedge.com/2012/04/red-writing-hood-prompt-more-than-words/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+TheRedDressClub+%28the+red+dress+club%3A%29

Today’s song is a spin on the band mentioned, Counting Crows, and Jake Hanna’s ironic statement “you can count on me” to Mallory. He doesn’t mean that. Here’s You Can’t Count On Me:

 

You Know You’re Right

It wasn’t what I was expecting. The feeling of hurt wasn’t as strong as past years. You’re missed every time my television or iPod or God forbid, the car radio, plays. I stopped using your song, inside my phone, to wake me a couple of years ago. I depend on the phone’s brain to compensate for my failing one. It’s been eighteen years. Today, your ghost is old enough to vote or serve in a war. You’ve shown me much. I divorced my mismatched significant other choice and found another someone who’s a ray of incandescent light in this dark world. I’m raising three beautiful kids. I don’t stay out all or night or intentionally spend every dime I have, living your dreams.  I don’t have to suffer for my art like you. I’m finishing something, I mean it’s only a book, but it’s mine and it’s honest. I think you’d appreciate that.Be true, be real, be fearless and never apologize. I think what you taught me more than anything is don’t quit because it’s hard. You quit and look what happened. Music went to hell, well a lot of it did. You quit and your daughter had to be raised by someone lacking the skills to do so. At least I left mine and found someone better. You know what else I wasn’t expecting? Happiness exists and not just in small doses, but extended periods of fulfillment. I have people who love me in spite of my illness. You taught me to stop believing in people like you and look inside. That’s your legacy, and it’s a damn good one. I write every day and I think about you each time a sentence is punctuated. I wonder if you’d understand a word of this or if you’d laugh if I told you that you’re the top search for this blog. You know you’re right when you can make sense of the crazy.

Rest In Peace, Kurt Cobain. You should be here.

***blogger’s note****

Eighteen years ago today, Kurt Cobain killed himself in his Seattle home. His body was found three days later. It was a watershed moment in my life. I’ve written elsewhere about him. Today, I decided to do so incorporating 2 prompts – Trifecta writing’s “Brain” http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ and StudioThirtyplus’ “It wasn’t what I was expecting.” http://studio30plus.com/profiles/blog/list 

One of my favorite songs is Nirvana’s You Know You’re Right. These are some of 333 most honest words I’ve ever written. I know I’m right to share them. Play this loud.