Day 9

I read somewhere that it takes 66 days to form a new habit. In the interest of getting into the habit of blogging regularly, I plan to publish one post a day for the next 66 days, finishing up on October 13, 2020. Content-wise, each day's post can include anything that crosses my mind and that I hope will spark something in yours, whether poetry, prose, art, or the occasional rant. Here's to 66 days of finding something to say :)

For Day 9, I want to share about a project that's been in the works for...years. It's very close to my heart :)

 

I don't understand why so many coming-of-age movies and books romanticize high school. High school sucked. But Clara, the bright and critical reader who has read ahead in this post challenges,you literally wrote a musical about high school. To which I say: Touche. Ya got me. If you look back at that first sentence, however, you'll soon realize that it's not high school itself I have an issue with,but rather the unrealistically rosy picture of high school often portrayed in so many stories. I admit that my own writing on the subject can seem unnecessarily dark,maybe in subconscious-yet-direct retaliation to this particular overused trope. Who's to say.

The germ of the idea that led to writing Shadows the musical came from my own high school experience. I struggled with some mental issues as a high-school freshman, some of it the normal hormone-fueled angst that is a rite of passage for adolescence, some of it severe anxiety and depression that persisted well into my college years (I finally started counseling for it senior year of college. Long story beyond the scope of this post. Therapy's great; y'all go get some if you need it.)

Anyway, back to Shadows. It started with a couple lines popping into my head (which eventually made it into the title song): Though the monsters on the walls are only shadows / They're closing in on me from day to day. Dismal? Well, yes. But accurate? Also yes. And especially to the high school experience, in my opinion. So many of the worries and fears ("monsters") we experience during high school are "shadows", intangibles born out of our own imaginings, or at least enhanced by them. I dare you to list one problem from high school that still bothers you today. The problems in our heads are far worse than the ones we interact with in the real-world. 

And so many things in high school are built up as important, all-or-nothing issues... but only during high school. Studying for a class matters...until the class is over. Then you never touch the information again. Busting your butt to ace the SATs matters...until you get the score you need. Then the material can fly out of your brain; you no longer need it. No one in college cares what you got on your SAT: you're all on the same sinking ship that is higher ed and the current struggle matters more than your past success. Being part of a particular social clique matters...until two days after graduation. Five years after high school the only interaction you'll have with some of your former "friends" will be when they try to recruit you for their direct-marketing scheme online. And I'm sorry in advance for that. 

Everything felt redundant in high school to me because, given enough time and distance, it was.

Shadows tells the story of a high-school senior, Adam, who in some sense is coming to terms with the ridiculousness of it all. He's tired of struggling to keep his place in the high school pecking order when it doesn't matter to him. After the sudden death of his estranged father in a car accident, Adam is left devastated. He and his father had just been beginning to mend their relationship over the past year, and now another foothold in his life has been ripped away. He can't accept that the death was an accident, going so far as to hire a down-on-his-luck private investigator(such a farcical, humorous character to write) to find evidence to the contrary . His outward struggles with being placed in a foster home following his father's death mirror his battles with the demons inside. Through a series of failures and an unlikely friendship with his Western Civ teacher, Adam learns to let go of the need to have all the answers. He learns that life goes on if it is lived, not merely deciphered from a distance.

Pretty hefty stuff. In retrospect, I probably should've cut a few supporting roles and minor plot arcs. I most likely will do so, but I can't bring myself to make those cuts just yet. 

Instead, today I want to share a couple of songs from Shadows the musical with brief explanatory notes. Here goes:

 

1. "Shadows"

The title song of the musical, sung by Adam shortly after his father's death. He has just been sent to his foster placement, thus the references to going "home again."

Adam:

The light fades from the sky

Leaving me alone in an endless night

When it’s dark, the monsters come to find me

When I’m all alone and out of sight

 

And though the monsters on the walls are only shadows

They’re closing in on me from every side

And nothing that I tell them makes a difference

There’s nowhere I can go to hide

 

[Chorus]:

Shadows, whispers, half-forgotten memories

That tell me everywhere is somewhere

And every day is now

Fighting, yearning, hoping, disbelieving

That tomorrow is another day

And I can go home again

 

The stars dance in the sky

Lighting up the dark of this endless night

Until the day dawns, I stand up alone

And I’m dancing with the shadows on the walls

 

And the monsters on the walls are only shadows

And they flicker as they fade away

And all I have to tell them doesn’t matter

Nothing that I tell them makes them stay

 

[Repeat Chorus]

 

Yeah, tomorrow is another day

The shadows come, the shadows stay

And I can go home again

And I can go home again

Home again

2. Absolutely Revolutionary

This song introduces the character of Alexander Kane, Adam's Western Civ teacher. It's his first year of teaching and this song captures his youthful idealism about the positive impact he intends to make. Whether he can live up to those self-imposed expectations is a different story (spoiler: he can't).  

Kane:

This morning I looked in the mirror

While tying my lucky striped tie

I flashed me a grin, before I begin

To begin again

This morning I smiled at the mirror

For the first time in a while

At the guy I saw standing there

How long has it been?

 

I remember when that guy was just a boy

Thinking that the world was mine for the taking

Playing like the world was just a toy

Like everything was mine for making and unmaking

 

Oh I’ve done my share of living

Of giving and forgiving

Of being and doing and striving to see what’s ahead

Oh I’ve done my share of wandering

Of reaching, searching, climbing

Of falling and landing on my feet again somehow

But not now

Not now

 

[Chorus]:

I intend to be absolutely revolutionary

I intend to be what I never was before

A rebel and a revolutionary

Now and forevermore

I open the door

 

Oh I’ve done my share of living

Of giving and forgiving

I used to think I knew what life had in store

I’ve done my share of sighing

Of falling, breaking, crying

Of spending the night hoping I’d live to see another dawn

But not now

Not now

 

[Repeat Chorus]

I open the door

I open the door

 

3. The Hunt is On

And finally, a bonus funny number to lighten the mood somewhat. J.D. Hennessy, the hilariously incompetent private investigator that Adam unwittingly hires, sings this high-energy song as soon as Adam is out of earshot in the waiting room in an attempt to get his overworked secretary Julia Finch on board with his impossible scheme. Intending to recover his reputation while providing Adam no actual assistance with a situation that the police have ruled as an accident, Hennessy is prepared to lie, cheat, and swindle his way to the top. This song is currently incomplete, but it will continue in much the same vein as the bit below:

Hennessy:

Don’t let him out the door

Till he’s signed on the dotted line

Don’t let him walk away

Till we’ve got some reward for our time

 

It’s been far too long, Finch

It’s been far too long

For a chief investigator

For a detective of incredible finesse

To be idle and distressed

To be bored –it’s unacceptable

Unbelievable, inconceivable—

Don’t let him out the door!

 

And I know you think I’m crazy

And I know you think we’re done

But believe me, Finch

Believe me now, when I say the magic words:

The hunt is on!

 

The hunt is on!

And you and I will be heroes

The shot is fired!

And we’re raring at the bit to go

This could be my chance

If I play it right

This could be the one big chance I’m given in this life!

 

And that's it for now! Hope y'all enjoyed this little snapshot into a project very near and dear to my heart. It's undergoing pretty extensive revision at the moment, but I hope to be able to share more in future.

 

 

Till tomorrow,

Clara  

Day 8

I read somewhere that it takes 66 days to form a new habit. In the interest of getting into the habit of blogging regularly, I plan to publish one post a day for the next 66 days, finishing up on October 13, 2020. Content-wise, each day's post can include anything that crosses my mind and that I hope will spark something in yours, whether poetry, prose, art, or the occasional rant. Here's to 66 days of finding something to say :)

For Day 8, I'm switching things up from writing to art, specifically calligraphy. 

 

By way of introduction,I recently bought a set of calligraphy markers in all colors (a welcome change from the black ones I had before!) and I've been looking for any excuse to use them. And by way of yet more introduction, one of my all-time favorite artists is Ryan O'Neal, popularly known as Sleeping at Last. The ethereal beauty of his instrumentation, the poetry in his lyrics, the sheer perfection that is his Enneagram EP--I may be slightly obsessed. And as a pianist, it's SO validating to hear the piano being used prominently (or even exclusively!) in much of his instrumentation. (Seriously, anyone who relegates the piano to the role of sad-sidekick-filling-in-background-chords or--heaven forbid--PERCUSSION ONLY should have all their pianos forcibly removed and replaced with lil' 10-key melodicas instead since that's all they need. Oh, and charged with crimes against humanity because honestly, the audacity.)

Ok, coming off of that impassioned tangent; it turns out that my moving to an apartment for law school this past week led to the perfect excuse a great reason to make some calligraphy to decorate my space with. And of course, what better to feature in my work than Sleeping at Last lyrics? I got a little carried away and made more than I could use for display, but thankfully, my little corner of the internet is bound by no such limits of space and/or taste. (And tbh I feel *slightly* apologetic about the caffeine-fueled disaster of a poem that was last night's post, so here's trying to make it up to y'all.)

Phew, introductions are finally out of the way. Now onto the main shindig:

First, my enneagram type song. Proud 5w4 here.

 

The first of two attempts at the song "Taste". I didn't end up using this one, but I like the two-color styling and will definitely be trying it again in future.

So the three above are the ones I ended up framing and displaying. I think they work well together since all three songs deal with life, from the living of the present moment to the end of a life well-lived to the transience of life as a whole. The three different starting pronouns (I, you, we) also add a nice touch, I think. One of those little details that contributes a sense of completeness to the three songs as a unit. A final, minor consideration was that my room decor ended up being mostly blue and purple, so these three fit right in with everything else.

Finally, one more that I didn't end up using (but loved the results of), and three salty short quips that I wrote out just for fun. They do make great reaction-images when you need to shut down a mind-numbing discussion in any unfortunate group chat you may be part of. You're welcome in advance.

I love the connecting letters here. And I want to sing this song to my first-born child someday--definitely give it a listen. #sentiment

  

"all due respect" = could be none. Ya never know.

Me @ every political conversation this election season #2020 #everyonedeservestolose #makepoliticsirrelevantagain

 

I do intend to use this one sparingly, but sometimes ya just gotta do what ya gotta do.

And there you have it, folks. I hope this post had as much entertainment value for y'all reading it as it did for me writing it.

My space is classy and decorated and color-coordinated for the cheap cheap price of almost no money (I did have to spend ~$5 on frames, but I got the cheapo plastic kind). If you've ever wanted to get into calligraphy but doubted your abilities, consider this a sign to get started. I learned exclusively from how-to books on hand-lettering and from copying fonts and labels that I thought looked cool. Pretty sure my technique is way off (which might explain why I have so much trouble making the letters evenly sized and spaced), but calligraphy is so fun and therapeutic and requires little equipment for big results. Try it out and you won't regret it. 

 

 

Till tomorrow,

Clara 

 

Day 7

I read somewhere that it takes 66 days to form a new habit. In the interest of getting into the habit of blogging regularly, I plan to publish one post a day for the next 66 days, finishing up on October 13, 2020. Content-wise, each day's post can include anything that crosses my mind and that I hope will spark something in yours, whether poetry, prose, art, or the occasional rant. Here's to 66 days of finding something to say :)

For Day 7......whatever this is:

 

To whom it may concern

And to all whom it may not:

For the sake of things remembered

But almost left forgot(ten)

(Rhyme or grammar,a hard battle;

Parentheses, a compromise)

On the seventh day,God rested.

And who am I to attempt to best the Divine?

Maybe in another place and time

I would try that line.

Excuses, excuses

I admit 

It's time to face the truth and write.

The truth might set ye free

But it wears an ugly face

The truth is ticking, ticking, ticking--

It's 11:25--

And I'm scrambling madly

To publish this in time.

Quality or quantity

Coherence or rhyme

So many decisions

So little ti--

It's fine.

I can't rhyme a word with itself

But using the same vowel can sound right.

If this rambling on is garbage

At least it's garbage done ri-- 

And there it is again.

But we've come to no lasting harm

After all, third time's the charm

Suffice it to say, a poem about nothing

Takes a surprising amount of effort to write

No spontaneity, no creative flight

Devolving into couplets with no clear meter

Striving to satisfy both critic and hater--

Which rhymes with

"See you later"--

Which I will 

Tomorrow and the next day and the next after

Now and Then and Hereafter

For sixty-six days

A self-imposed malaise

A completely arbitrary test

To showcase my incompetence

And cater to your entertainment

A mutually beneficial arrangement?

Two birds with one stone?

Till tomorrow,

Clara

P.S.

An epistolary poem full of absurdity

Is quite the monstrosity

(I had to end this drivel with a couplet

And for good measure, to double it.)

 

Day 6

I read somewhere that it takes 66 days to form a new habit. In the interest of getting into the habit of blogging regularly, I plan to publish one post a day for the next 66 days, finishing up on October 13, 2020. Content-wise, each day's post can include anything that crosses my mind and that I hope will spark something in yours, whether poetry, prose, art, or the occasional rant. Here's to 66 days of finding something to say :)

For Day 6, I'm trying out a new type of post focusing on "the process of poetry". This post centers on my poem, "Unraveling", from first draft to final product.

 

First, my initial draft. At this point I had a vague idea in mind, that this poem, written after processing a difficult break-up, should include the aftermath of that time and the decision to love the mundane moments of life even if things seem hopeless on any given day. As you can see, there're the beginnings of some interesting imagery here, but nothing especially coherent.

 

From this rough beginning (much of which did not get used), I refined my ideas into a second draft that expanded some of the initial imagery, grouped lines differently, and discarded lines that didn't seem to fit. I also tried to impose some type of regular meter on the poem, but it still ended up pretty loose, especially in the second half.

A much more coherent second draft(I only got a photo of the first half of the poem, unfortunately):

 

And this is pretty close to the final version of "Unraveling"! I broke up the lines into stanzas, edited a little more, and sent the result to a couple friends for critique. One friend did find the loose meter in the second half jarring after the shorter, tighter lines in the first half. However, another friend told me not to edit further, that the poem in its current form sounded like genuine words from the heart. I, being lazy and confident in my genius, listened to this second bit of advice instead. (No, in all honesty, I would've loved to impose a regular rhyme and meter to the entire poem. Doing so while keeping my meaning intact was just beyond my abilities). 

Voila:

 

 

"Unraveling"

Is it safety, or is it pride

To keep all my fears inside,

Every millionth might-have-been

So I can never miss them?

 

Is it fear, or is it kindness

To push against love’s rosy blindness

By pushing you away

When I want nothing more than you

To hold my hand, and I your heart?

 

The price we pay when castles fall apart

We keep on paying after we find cottages to dwell in

With flowers bravely struggling to grow in window-boxes

I hide from you between the window and the wall

In the space between the silences and words

And you wonder why I seem so far away

 

I could recite to you the lies I’ve spoken 

And every lie that was told to me

And that I keep on telling myself again and again and again

 

Broken phrases, broken syllables 

Broke my walls so long ago 

That the cracks no longer show 

Hairline fractures pierce my heart

Pulling every thread apart

So now I love without a single string attached

 

Unraveling, unraveling, unraveling

My dream-spun tapestries into 

A web of threads I lay beneath your feet

As if to dare you to see beyond

The faded, fraying mess I spread

To every dream I wove in them

When hopes were high and

Promises were for believing

When love was blind and in its blindness

I saw everything I wanted

So now I love without a single string attached

 

I love the fleeting moment and the one-in-thousand chance

I love the glint of sunlight dappling crests of ocean waves

I love the wave that overwhelms the message in the bottle, lost at sea

 I love the rushing whisper of the faster-rushing wind

Between the light and shadow, where to breathe is to begin

I love the faltering footsteps of the children and the aged 

The hollowness of silence and the pulsing hum of change

 

I hold my hand outstretched, no grasping fist

Tries to contain the world and make it wait within

While I catch my breath

I love the waking and the waiting and the never knowing

I love as if I had no second chance

I love without a single string attached

 

 

Till tomorrow,

Clara 

 

Day 5

I read somewhere that it takes 66 days to form a new habit. In the interest of getting into the habit of blogging regularly, I plan to publish one post a day for the next 66 days, finishing up on October 13, 2020. Content-wise, each day's post can include anything that crosses my mind and that I hope will spark something in yours, whether poetry, prose, art, or the occasional rant. Here's to 66 days of finding something to say :)

For Day 5, I'm straying from the pattern thus far of posting poetry. Today's entry is a 400ish-word fragment from a current WIP, The Lockbeam Society. I love this scene (and not just because I wrote it) because it introduces us to Ness Lockbeam, the main character, indirectly, through Lockbeam's initial impressions of another character, Argo Kane. The perspective is limited, the dialogue is scarce, and the impression left on the reader is ambiguous. It's the kind of beginning that needs another fifty pages to develop into the start of significant plot action, but I venture to say it might just succeed in keeping a reader's attention for that long. (Note: I do plan to edit it to replace more of Lockbeam's mental narration with spoken dialogue between the two characters.)

The Lockbeam Society

I: Enter Argo

            Argo Kane was the name he gave. He’d used it for a while and he liked the sound of it. The fact that the name was not, in any legal or technical sense, his real one, had ceased to bother him long ago.

            Ness Lockbeam had asked for his name, not that he had needed it. No, Lockbeam made it a policy to create files beforehand for each man he interviewed for the job. These he would rifle through as they had their little back-and-forth, looking up to reward the anxious young man with an occasional second of eye contact here and there. Fiddling with the files made him look disinterested and in control of the situation. And it kept him from being bored. Bored of the same rambling prattle from the same empty-headed young fools who applied at the Lockbeam Agency day after day. Bored of the humdrum routine of pretending to listen to them flounder for a few minutes before dismissing them with a practiced smile and a “We’ll keep in touch”. He never followed up with any of them.

But Lockbeam hadn’t glanced down at Argo’s file even once, and it had been at least ten minutes since Argo had walked in.

He looked Argo in the eye instead, inventing questions whenever there was a lull in the interview without listening to the answers. He inventoried Argo’s features in his head as if checking off a mental list: roughly-falling brown hair, dark eyes, wide cheekbones, slight underbite, average height and a frankly unimpressive physique. You could pass a hundred men like him in the street every day without giving any of them a second glance.

Lockbeam decided right then that Argo was the man for the job. But of course, he wouldn’t settle it with him right then and there. He never did this kind of thing in a hurry.

Rising to his feet, he offered his hand with a practiced smile.

 “We’ll keep in touch, Mr. Kane.”

Argo nodded, shook the offered hand, and turned and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Alone again, Lockbeam glanced at the file sitting on his desk and flashed it quite a different smile, grim and narrow-eyed. Had he been the cartoon villain of a children’s book, he would have rubbed his hands together and cackled. Finally. 

 

 

Till tomorrow,

Clara