joannebest











{December 8, 2017}   Breaking The Ice

breaking ice1

Is it possible to forget how to write?

It’s 3:42am EST as I type these words, I woke up half an hour ago and found myself unable to go back to sleep. You know how your mind switches on and no matter what you do, you can’t stop those thoughts from swirling and cluttering? It’s usually your worst fears or insecurities that seem to pop up most around those hours, I heard that 3am is the Devil’s hour, it was in some article talking about a weird phenomena where a whole bunch of people around the world wake up during the 3am hour, like the Devil has an alarm clock somewhere and it wakes up those who are susceptible.

The major flaw I find in that theory is time zones. Does everyone wake up at the same time, or does everyone wake up at 3am local time? Either Hell is full of alarm clocks all set for the same time or my mind is scrambling for something to write about.

Because it’s been a long time.

I hate to play the death card again but those of you who have followed my blog previously,you all know I had that Trifecta of Death, the domino effect that began with a hurricane acting all “I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down”, followed by the year of rebuilding, then the Trifecta of Death which was actually more like Double Digits of Death because almost my entire Family got wiped out one by one leaving me with one older brother who has no use I mean love I mean, well, he doesn’t really know me nor does he want to, one Aunt I love who lives far away and a handful of cousins, most of who live across the country, and no more Family home I worked so hard to save, which I did with the help of many, but since the sale after my Parents died, I’ve yet to drive by the house, I’m afraid I’ll break down and bawl like a baby.

I just wanted to get that out of the way, for those of you at home playing along for the first time.

So much has changed, I seem to find myself lost and aimless, the only person able to understand me is a 19 year old daughter of friends of mine. She’s me when I was 19 and the daughter I never had, only way cooler than me.

I’m doing that thing I do, ramble, babble, talk too much.

I hear that accusation a lot these days which is pretty ironic seeing as I talk to no one except my husband and his sister, we all still live in the same house, they go to work and I have no job which is all good when I’m writing but I haven’t been writing so I’ve been feeling pretty useless/worthless/all-the-less-words.

Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome.

Hey, that’s a thing you know!

I talk to myself, my cats, an occasional few minutes on the phone with my bestie who’s life is pretty much the same as mine so our contact is more textual than vocal. I’m the girl who would talk to her Mother 5 times a day, even my Dad and deceased Brother would call me all they time but they were more like 16 times a day.

So when you’re backed against the wall you might as well give in and hope your Muse wakes up and smacks you awake. Because I’ve been sleepwalking through life and it’s time to WAKE UP!!!

Silence isn’t always golden, sometimes silence sucks.

 

breaking ice

 

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block2
I’ve been gone for too long.
Overwhelmed with life, my writer’s block has been in the drivers seat while the rest of me has been immersed in my shell.
But no matter where I am, I am with me, so running away is not an option. Time to meet my devils head on and start writing again.
It’s hard after being MIA for so long, unsure of myself, my writing, my everything, but it’s been even harder to deny myself my only outlet, so this is a test.
Can I still write? I hope so.
Will I give up again? Possibly.
But now, at the busiest time of year, I’ve got to dive back in, head on and fearless.
I hope I can do it. More importantly, I hope I can earn back your trust and forgiveness.

Like I said, this is a test. I’ve managed to type a little over one hundred words, lets see if I can keep it up. (not in a Viagra way, more like in a writing way)
I have a near houseful of company and a brand new Siamese kitten. But there’s one thing I learned long ago and managed to forget: the more you do, the more you do.

Time for this girl to do more.
block1



madmuse
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
I’m trying to work on something, unsure of the direction I want to go. I lean back in my chair and light yet another cigarette hoping to find inspiration in a haze of smoke. Or maybe in the bottom of my teacup.
“You can’t ignore me forever missy. I’ve got time and lots of it. More than I can say for you.”
There had to be a way to stir up something interesting to write about. Hell, I have so much clutter in my brain there has to be something I can scrape together that won’t bore the masses as much as it bores me.
“You aren’t the only one who’s bored, I’ve been yawning my head off for the last couple months while you continue to make no decisions. I mean come on already! An intervention didn’t help, it made things worse if it did anything.”
There’s an annoying buzz in my ear, like that elusive mosquito on a hot summer night, you know it’s there but you can’t quite figure out where it is or how to get rid of it.
“Please. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily. I’m here, I’ll always be here, like it or not. Get over it.”
Maybe it was one of my cats again. They were always up to something that involved weird noises and destruction. Lately they’ve added snoring to their repertoire.
That annoying straight line on my computer screen keeps blinking at me, a mix of disdain and disgust like it wants to take me by the throat and shake the words out of me.
“If you don’t get moving soon I’m going to do more than shake the words out of you. You, missy, need a good old fashioned over the knee spanking. Which actually sounds like a good idea now that I’m thinking about it… and by the way missy, I know you hear me so knock it off with the ignoring of moi.”
“Nope,” say I, “I hear nothing.” I try to give it my best Sargent Shultz try but I suck at accents and I don’t think my Muse is a big fan of Hogan’s Heroes.
“What I’m not a big fan of is you not doing anything.”
She hovered over my keyboard now, finally showing herself even though I knew she was there all along.
Mostly I was just being a bitch to annoy her. Writer’s block can make a person do strange things, ignoring one’s Muse probably isn’t the best way to be productive.
“Listen to you using all those words just to say you suck, I’m almost impressed! Why don’t you try putting your fingers on the trigger and start typing?”
“Because you’re sitting on my keyboard?”
Couldn’t stop myself, the words were out before I could bite my tongue. I’m really in no mood for a conversation with my Muse right now, I should have kept my mouth shut.
“First of all I’m hovering, not sitting; secondly, I know what you’re going to say before you even think it. You seem to forget who’s in charge here.”
I blink and she’s standing behind me, leaning over my shoulder looking at the blank screen in front of me.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Why are you even here?” I ask. “You’re supposed to be in a file marked “Muse Drafts”.”
“Yeah, right next to the files marked “Lizzie and James” and “Tower Story”, been there done that. I’m bored.”
“Well if you’re so bored then why don’t you do your job and muse me up already?”
Her left eyebrow arched so high it nearly reached her hairline.
“Job? Job???”
Shit. Here we go again, another round of beat on the brat.
“You are a brat,” she hissed. Which is pretty impressive considering there are no “s’s” in the sentence she-
“Hey!” She slapped me in the face! “You slapped me in the face!”
“Your choice missy; stop fucking around, get your ass writing, or I’ll get your ass burning and believe me, I have plenty of experience when it comes to a good old fashioned brat-spanking.”
I have to admit, I considered it.
I mean she did look pretty hot in her leather and I was being bratty and maybe I’m reading too much erotica lately. Then again I did go to Catholic school and I was being bratty. And did I mention she looked pretty hot in her leather?
“Stop repeating yourself. And since you seem so anxious for a spanking you’re not getting one. Now.”
I can feel my face flaming at the turn this conversation is taking and she laughs, at me, not with me of course.
My Muse has a sadistic streak.
“And don’t forget it chica,” she blows me a kiss before disappearing for who knows how long.
Abandoned, as usual, it’s just me and a blank screen once again, that fucking blinking line taunting me still.
musemad



{January 8, 2014}   Froze

frozeye
they’re all there
the words i need swirl inside,
my mind, cluttered and full
waiting for me to melt, even just a bit
i need release, a little prod
to get me moving, away from this slump
out of the chill holding me down
something’s got a grip on me
thoughts tangle together,
mountains and coyotes howl my name
calling out to me as self-inflicted deadlines nip at my heels
and thoughts of blue-haired girls dance across my brain
i’m frozen
useless in this icicle form
wanting nothing more than some heat
lava flows through my veins but it’s froze,
i need a jumpstart
some energy or a kick in the ass,
something’s gotta give, soon,
i feel it bubbling inside me
waiting to erupt and spew onto the page,
away from ┬áthis frozen wasteland i’ve become
froze



et cetera