If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you know I spent last weekend on a gorgeous property just outside Marshall, NC. While I’m not a vain person, one of the things I really like about me is that I can make people laugh. I’m funniest in bad situations, but so far no one’s asked me to do a comedy tour at hospitals and funeral homes around the country. For now, my gift of wit is donated to friends and family who are going through a difficult time. I know love doesn’t pay the mortgage, but it’s the only currency I’ve ever accepted for what I do.
My visit to the Rising Spirit property outside Marshall was requested by my amazing friend Sheila Shine. This woman loves music as much as I do. She has a spirituality that is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. Her capacity to love and desire to connect people together is fierce. She is tenacious when she sets her brain on something that will improve someone’s world. Unfortunately, her breast cancer is just as tenacious.
April is National Poetry Month. As a poet, I’m required to have this knowledge and not just wait around for someone to post about it on Facebook…. and then look it up on Snopes to see if it’s actually true.
If you have a child, then you may know about all the poetry that happens in April. Even schools who don’t normally have poetry in their classes will seize the day (so to speak) and break out the Shel Silverstein, Dorothy Parker or may snag a local poet to come perform for the kids. I’m one of those fortunate local poets.
I have seen a lot of all-caps-multiple-exclamation-points posts from middle-class white people on social media this month. Their issue? That people are saying the wrong holiday greeting to them. They’re Jewish or agnostic or Wiccan or whatever and someone happily wished them a “Merry Christmas.”
I get being upset or annoyed by that. I really do. But going ALL CAPS & exclamation pointy on people?….I don’t get that. See, here’s the thing, for the first time in your life, you’re the minority. I’ll bet the majority of America celebrates Christmas. Maybe not the Christian version, and perhaps they also have a menorah lit in the window, but chances are, Santa is somewhere in their holiday season. read more →
And now I’m going to do something which I rarely do….promote myself. Please bear with me, this is not something I do well. Sure, I’m great at letting everyone know which bands and plays to go see, and I’m almost always right when I warn people to buy tickets because a show will sell out, but I am no good at reminding people to come hear me perform.
To further illustrate my point, this is the first time I’ve used my website to mention one of my shows in several months, maybe a year. I have an email list to send out newsletters, but I only sent out one and it was in early 2013. Yep, the shoemaker’s children have no shoes and the girl who loves to promote everyone else never says a word about her own work. read more →
I know I’ve been behind on updating my website, so allow me to catch you up on a few things…. read more →
I am a writer. No, seriously, I am. Just as having a camera doesn’t make someone a photographer, having a pen or a laptop does not make anyone a writer. Being a writer is an immeasurable amount of work. It requires an understanding of language, grammar, composition and having the organized yet creative brain to put all these ingredients together.
But perhaps my just saying that I’m a writer isn’t enough for the skeptic lurking inside your brain. Possibly my awards, published works or the crowds which I have performed for over the last two decades still aren’t going to convince you. Maybe, just maybe, even the money I’ve made isn’t enough to squash that tiny voice in your head which insists that a girl with a stupid name could never be a “writer”. Okay, I’ll give in to your inability to take my word for it. In the early 90s I didn’t believe that I should be called a writer either. My minuscule ego at the time presumed that I needed more awards to validate my title. That’s when David Foster Wallace came into my life. He assured me that not only was I a writer, but that I was already quite good. If you are unaware of exactly who David Foster Wallace is, then we probably shouldn’t have this conversation. You’re really not in a position to question whether or not I am a writer. I’m sorry, but it’s true.
Now that we have established that I am a writer, let’s move onto the topics up for discussion. Am I a “douche bag”? Glossing over the fact that douchebag is one word and not two, I’ll admit that I had to look up the technical function of this item. For those of you non-writers out there, to say someone is an intimate object is a metaphor. I know metaphors quite well, they are a staple in both my poetry and prose. I have even taught workshops on similes and metaphors. So, am I metaphorically a douchebag? One would think there is validity in this statement. It’s been used in conjunction with my name over 30 times on Twitter and is posted multiple times on a “blog” and the Facebook pages of that blog’s owner. Granted, one wouldn’t have to go far to reach the conclusion that over 100 tweets in 48 hours resembles more of a psychotic temper tantrum than a person stating facts, but the question has now been raised.