Burning bright at both ends

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Saturday, July 23, 2011


True talent always seems to burn bright and fade away quickly. Whether it finds a way to destroy itself or the world snuffs the flames that burn at both ends, it's here and gone so quickly that you almost miss it. All of the musicians, artists and true talents of the world who have met an untimely end. It's hard to understand why.

In a world that severely needs huge doses of beauty and true art, the tasteless and bland pollute it with mountains of garbage to dig through before finding the true gems. I've seen it in pop culture and I've seen it happen to personal friends. And today, another one joins the list of tragic ends.

Amy Winehouse possessed one of the most sultry and amazing voices of our time. Whether you enjoyed her music or not, her talent was undeniable. Her voice oozed the soul of yesteryears rhythm and blues with a modern twist of pop. Unfortunately, like so many others, she struggled with her own personal demons and couldn't shake the monkey from her back.

Winehouse was found dead in her London flat today. Another to join such names as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and so many others who have formed the ranks of the "27 club". Her death is not surprising to those who knew her lifestyle, but disappointing. Disappointing that such a talent was wasted. That she'll never be able to contribute her voice to music again. If there is any consolation, it's the fact that her talent was preserved in recordings. That her voice was not lost forever. That she was given a chance to share her talents with the world.

R.I.P. Amy Winehouse
September 1983 – July 2011

Tell your story.

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, July 21, 2011


That is one of the most important things I was told after reading the first seven pages of what is to become my first full-length book to a group of writers I meet with every week. "Tell your story." That is my plan. The first words hit the page just a few days ago and it has started off slowly. Transitioning from writing mostly poetry to re-introducing prose into the mix has been my most difficult task.

The story is all upstairs. Imagined and envisioned within the workings of my skull. Morphing the idea and imagery into words on a page feels like a futile alchemy experiment at times. But I've got the engine turning. Now it's just a matter of pumping in some fuel.

My characters have begun to breath and speak. They choose their words and actions. Where they roam. How they see and feel. What they believe. How they love, or don't love. Choices. Now, all I need to remember is to let myself breath while I record their lives.

So, I will tell my story. Let it bleed onto the page. Let my mind and hands take over. Let my characters speak to me and one another. 

"Writing is nothing more than a guided dream."
~Jorge Luis Borges

“If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing,
 or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.”
~Anais Nin

“There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; 
sometimes it's like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.”
~Ernest Hemingway


Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on Saturday, July 16, 2011


Twenty-six years ago, my parents put me in the back seat of whatever car they owned and started out for Disney World. I was their first child. This was their first trip as more than husband and wife and my first trip as anything. At one, any experiences you have are almost completely lost within the depths of your ever-expanding mind. The only thing I can recall from the trip is being in the back of the car one night as we headed south. There was a knit blanket of various, warm colors over me. Mickey Mouse didn't make my memory's cut.

There were other, smaller trips from that time on, but nothing which ventured too far from home. Most didn't even leave the state.

I've wanted to begin travelling for the past six years. Every time I'd plan something, I'd back out of it or find an excuse not to go. Friends around the states and different countries have offered me places to rest my head and feel welcome, eliminating the need for expensive and sterile hotels, yet I wouldn't budge from my small corner of Pennsylvania.

It's about time it all started changing. This year has been one of life-altering changes. Experiences that have picked me up and kicked me in the ass to really start living and enjoying the time I have here.

Next month I'll be headed to Orlando. It's come full circle. Though I wont be cruising to the hum of rubber on pavement, I'll be experiencing a first. Flying. No, I've never flown. Nervous? Not really. Not about the actual flight, anyway. The hordes of travellers running and bustling about in the airport is the real worry.

While I'm down there, I hope to visit the house where Kerouac lived and wrote The Dharma Bums. My friends have also promised me book and music stores, among other things. And there's always the people. Meeting and conversing with new and interesting people. It's one of the most overlooked gifts of life. Possibily due to the fact that interesting people are rare.

I'm hoping this trip will fill me with ideas and words as well. Writing in these past months has been a difficult task. Everything I scribble, I'm more dissatisfied with than usual. The ideas are aching to burst from my pen, but they've been held back by something. Maybe the sun of Florida can burn it away.

Tickets are booked. Arrangements have been made. The only thing I've got left to do is to decide which book I'll be reading on the flight down.

Kerouac's home where he wrote The Dharma Bums.