30 Days of Me: Days 16-18

Day 16- Another picture of yourself

Taken about a minute ago.

Day 17- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why

Oh, man. This one’s tough. On the one hand, I want to say someone really spectacularly awesome, but then I realize coming back to my own life might end up sucking, whereas if I chose someone with a terrible life, maybe I would end up appreciating my own much more? This all sounds terrible out loud, er, in writing. I’d probably switch lives with a bird or something, and just fly around for a day and see what that’s like. Maybe i’ll come back to this one at a later date…
Day 18- Plans/dreams/goals you have

Hrm. Guessing this is long term? I’d say that ultimately, I want to be able to support myself with my writing/editing skills, working remotely while I travel the world. A lofty goal, but I don’t think it’s impossible since others are doing it. I’d also like to publish a few books and do some book tours. That’d be pretty fantastic. Essentially, i’d love to meet someone to travel around with. As much as I enjoy the single life (and believe me, I do), i’ve got a soft side too and wouldn’t mind (eventually) meeting someone I can hang out with for long periods of time, who actually gets me and who I actually get, who digs traveling as much as I do, who’s very much a constantly evolving work in progress, who I can have insanely awesome sex with but can also have incredible conversations with. So far, this person either a) does not exist, b) never lives anywhere near me, c) doesn’t know i’m alive, d) I don’t know. Maybe i’m just picky. But this would be nice to have eventually. I’d also like to live abroad for a few years, maybe in different countries. Hell, maybe even a year on every continent. I’d also at some point like to own a bar, just for the fuck of it. I think that’d be a whole lot of fun. Oh, and I want to eventually hitchhike someplace, just not alone. Am I missing anything?

30 Days of Me: Days 11 and 12

Day 11- Another picture of you and your friends

Oh, crap. I didn’t know this would come up again. Here’s a few more.

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Day 12- How you found out about Blogger and why you made one

Er. I assume this was created initially for Blogger. However, this is WordPress. And I don’t remember how I found out about it. But I made it cause I figured it was a good way to keep me writing more consistently. Think it’s working out alright so far.

30 Days of Me: Days 7-10

Ah, okay, so I haven’t been doing this daily but at least i’m keeping up more or less! Here’s the past few days. Another post to come soon..

Day 07- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you

Out in California, heading out of Sequoia National Park. 2006.

Travel. I spend most of my time thinking about the adventures i’ve gone on, the ones others are going on, the ones I’m planning, etc. I would go insane having to stay in one place all of the time.

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Day 08- Short term goals for this month and why

• Write more (blogging, short stories, poetry, everything. This is an ongoing goal from now until I die, basically.)
• Take better care of myself (I’ve been without fast food for about a month and i’ve been incorporating lots more fruits/veggies in my diet. Slowly starting to develop better habits, except maybe i’ve had one too many ciggs recently. I want to establish some kind of work out regimen before the month ends but we’ll see of course.)
• Make fun plans for the rest of the year (Travel plans, study/work abroad plans for potentially next year, mini road trip plans – basically anything travel related!)

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Day 09- Something you’re proud of in the past few days

I think i’m doing well at my new job. Uhm. I’ve had the discipline not to go out as much during the week? I suppose i’m half proud of that.
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Day 10- Songs you listen to when you are Happy, Sad, Bored, Hyped, Mad

I can’t really pick one main song for each of these, so i’m just going to post one video for each randomly.

 

Happy:

This one always reminds me of good times.

 

Sad:

(honestly, ANYTHING by Elliott Smith…)

 

Bored:

Who doesn’t Da Da Da…?

 

Hyped:

This song is too much fun. Highway driving, anyone?

 

Mad:

So good when you just don’t give a fuck anymore.

10 Minute Moments: You Can’t Win Em All

Writing is tricky business. Especially when you tend to mostly write about your life, your experiences, the people around you. I’ve always been envious of fiction writers. They can invent entire worlds out of nothing, creating the people they wish existed, painting imaginary landscapes with whatever words they choose to use. Even in my fiction writing, there’s a lot of honesty behind it. Or maybe honesty is the wrong word. Just, reality I suppose. My fiction is basically life with a few names, places, details changed around. Sometimes I add my own spin on how I wish things would have ended rather than how they did. Hell, it’s my story, right? No one told Hemingway to downplay his perspective. (I think.)

My biggest challenge has always been in trying to soften the blow of what actually happened for the sake of whoever was involved and for the sake of whoever might be reading. It’s hard to be okay with the judgement you’re sure to receive for your work. I’ve always tried to be a people pleaser, so when someone doesn’t like me or what I’m doing, i’ve frequently taken it to heart. It’s only recently that i’ve started to buck up and understand that you simply CAN NOT win everyone over.

Some of the most influential, creative, interesting, successful individuals were disliked by some. Usually, they were disliked by many. I often wonder how many writers wound up alienating everyone around them because of the things they wrote. I should find out where their support group meets… If I ever make it that far, anyway.

Any writers out there have advice on how to develop thicker skin? Anyone have any stories on how your writing got you into trouble in the past? I’m sure i’m not the only one.

Here’s a fantastically terrible song about this problem. Seriously. This song is the best thing to come out of this short blog post.

Apparently the song is about football (of the soccer variety). I don’t know either.

30 Days of Me: Day 2

Day 02- The meaning behind your Blog name

When I was in high school, I discovered the eccentric and talented artist/illustrator, Edward Gorey. His work fascinated me and every year, I would buy one of his calendars for my room. Anyway, each calendar page had a different sentence and accompanying illustration, and one day I chanced upon this one:

An image of three women getting ready for… something. Maybe a night out. Maybe a funeral. Maybe a date or maybe just for themselves. I fell for the word statement, to get up “killingly”, which I only imagined was equivalent to maybe dressing oneself up to the nines, doing it up right, looking and feeling and acting great, but even beyond that.

Sometime after, I made myself a Livejournal blog name as “Killingly”(note: embarrassing writing from a high school girl to be found here) and then subsequent screen names and pretty soon it launched as my internet handle.

My actual name is Priscilla, and many of my friend call me Pris. Hence: Pris Killingly.

As for the main title of my blog, “An Unconventionally Gorgeous Blog”? One of my old LJ accounts was titled “An Unconventionally Gorgeous Broad,” basically because that’s how I always felt. Not quite standard pretty. I never quite fit in with many of the women I knew and saw growing up around Miami. And I never thought I was exactly pretty, so much as odd looking. I wanted to put a positive spin on my physical features, so I decided I needed to give myself more credit, to recognize that while I might not be a a “standard beauty” (then again, what is? but this was me at 16), just like many other women, I was still gorgeous in my own way. Even typing that now is difficult for me. I wouldn’t say it’s a self-esteem issue so much as fear of ever coming off as truly arrogant that keeps me humble. Either way, I feel that beyond that, my writing is what’s really gorgeous. Again, not in an arrogant way, but it’s my art and I love my work (even when I hate it – as most writers do). So those are the stories.

Sorry for being late on this one. My car broke down yesterday and I had to work the late shift so my day was completely shot and by the time I got home, I was too exhausted to think. I’ll post Day 3′s before the end of the day as well as an update on the procrastination project (is this procrastination by saying that? Damnit.)

10 Minute Moments: Adjusting

Woke up with a stuffy nose, and I know it’s because my room is a mess and because I keep forgetting to take my allergy medicine. The sun isn’t even up and I’m not sure how I’m still awake. Or rather, how I woke up at all. It’s the end of February, and the only thing that makes me realize is that time simply refuses to sit still.

I think i’m going to try to do a little free write like this whenever I can. Too often, I jot down ideas of what I want to write about, I open drafts that I never publish, I write but I stop myself because it’s not perfect. Except that writing is never perfect. Art in every form is constantly changing, morphing from one thing to the next. Or maybe that’s just the kind of thing you think when you’ve slept maybe 10 hours tops in 3 days. Who knows.

I started a new job on Monday. I’d been waiting to hear back from them for about a month now. So far, it’s going alright save for the whole waking up before dawn part. Living out in the suburbs certainly doesn’t help the situation.

Other random thoughts as of late?

- Sandwiches are fantastic. I got hooked on Po’ Boys this month after celebrating Mardi Gras the only way I knew how (with food, although we had some Abita too. Did a little Boozin Betties write up on it here.).

- I don’t mind driving far distances as long as the traffic isn’t so bad. And yet, I live in Miami, where traffic is king.

- I’m still stuck between trying to figure out if I should try to TEFL abroad next year, or just move to New York, or apply to grad schools and see where they take me, or pack up all my stuff and move to California, land of milk and honey and lax laws about some favored personal items. Or maybe become a rubbertramp, pack my stuff in my car, and travel around. Except my car is unreliable. You see where I’m going with this…

And on that note, time for work. My 10 minutes are up.

A Return To Poetry

Last year, I challenged myself to write one haiku a day on Twitter in honor of the O, Miami Festival. For those who missed out, O, Miami was a celebration of poetry throughout Miami-Dade county. P. Scott Cunningham and all others who worked so diligently on the festival brought some fantastic poets from all across the country to come and read and participate in events. There were various open mics, poem drops (bits of poetry on paper dropped from helicopters in public spaces), even poetry recited via megaphone in a Ferrari. In short, it was inspiring to know how many people enjoyed poetry and how many more were finally being exposed to it, myself included.

I’d never been much a poet. I’m still not much of a poet. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love it as a creative outlet. During one of my many “change of majors” moments in college, I seriously considered becoming a Creative Writing major with a concentration in poetry. But it didn’t happen and here I am at 4am again wondering about the possibilities to be found in poetry.

So instead of over-analyzing all of this to death, I began to write some poems today. Truth be told, they weren’t anything i’d want to brag about. 2 simple poems, non-rhyming, crude. Still, this is the creative proses. I get that.

So here’s my attempt to get back into the poetic swing of things.

1. Haiku of the Day – Round 2. I tweet more than is probably healthy. I get that this makes me a geek and/or any other potentially negative label in the eyes of some, but I happen to enjoy it. As such, I know that doing my haikus on there makes it much more likely that i’ll stick to the project than on any other medium. If you haven’t already begin following me on Twitter, feel free to do so @PrisKillingly. Maybe i’ll even write you a haiku if you request it!

2. A presentation of my favorite pieces of the month on March 1st. Aside from the haikus (which i’ll have to also keep in a separate word doc so it doesn’t get sucked in to oblivion), i’ll be writing more in my notebooks, revising a little bit each time. My biggest issues have to do with being able to edit and revise my work without killing the essence of the original point. 5 poems doesn’t sound like much, but to write 5 really fantastic poems takes time, i’d imagine. Unless of course you’re just that lucky. Regardless, in order to keep myself legitimate on this project, i’m going to need to really be on the ball about this. I’ll attempt to make a few updates here and there with some works in progress in the meantime.

I’m really looking forward to challenging myself again. I spent the first month of the year in a bit of limbo, trying to decide what to do with myself without actually doing much (good times aside, of course). I want to shift my focus back to my work now that we’re in February. I have plans for a few other projects, but would rather not overwhelm either of us.

For now, here’s a poem by Allen Ginsberg to get the creative juices flowing…

Those Two

That tree said
I don’t like that white car under me,
it smells gasoline
That other tree next to it said
O you’re always complaining
you’re a neurotic
you can see by the way you’re bent over.

Photo Credit: www.oxherdingpath.com

Alice and Floyd – an excerpt

I know I haven’t written anything in here since October, and I do apologize for it. It seems I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut I’m only now beginning to kick. Maybe I’m finally feeling the pressure of the end of the year. I began working on another couple of stories but started this one up tonight and I’m kind of hoping I can start up a little ritual, writing a bit of it each night after work. I should also be writing up another (LONG overdue) piece for GlobalGrasshopper.com this week and maybe I’ll try to get back to my NYC Stories soon for those wondering what happened (or didn’t happen) that night with the DJ, not to mention more tales from my adventures on the road earlier this year.

Anyway, this is obviously a rough draft, so keep that in mind. In any event, meet Alice and Floyd:

 

Alice could feel the mucous collecting in her sinuses, and her throat getting scratchy and sore, and her eyes watering, and the muscles surrounding her bones aching more and more, and how there was nothing she could do. She would have to ride it out.

She didn’t want to be sick; didn’t really need to. There had always been a good excuse to stay home from work, hiding under the covers, craving the attention of Floyd. He was never more attentive than when she was sick. That whole loyalty bit really kicked in when she was sick. Floyd Nightingale, with the Vaporub and the hot chamomile tea and the remote control for the television; her clammy fingers pressing on the little rubber rectangles, feeling the painted numbers as she switched from channel to channel. He even brought her the pink slippers her mother had bought her one Christmas, which she rarely remembered to use. That was, until she got sick twice a year, and she recalled her mother’s nagging: Put on your slippers before you catch your death!

“Need anything else, baby? I gotta go or I’ll miss the train,” Floyd’s smooth as silk voice echoing from the bathroom as he finished fussing with his hair. He’d gotten a haircut a few days before but the barber had gotten a phone call half way through and his distractions were obvious near the right ear and all around the crown of his head.

“No… I’m okay. Well, wait, no. Actually, can I get some more water please? And you said there’s money for food, right? I don’t think I can get up to make anything today. I feel so weak,” she said, going from one thought to the other as she usually did.

“I left you a $20 on the counter for whatever you need,” he said as he entered the bedroom with a fresh glass of water. She took a few steady sips and smiled, putting the glass back on the window ledge where she normally kept it on nights she slept over. It all felt so familiar. Back in his house, in his bed, which had once been theirs. She had even helped him pick it out, even given him $50 for it, and ridden home with him in the Buick that day. She could remember it. A Sunday, and they had been afraid of rain but luckily they made it home in the nick of time.

And now here they were, 31 and 43 respectfully. And he was still the same but not at all and she was nothing if not a composite shadow of who she once was. Floyd knelt down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, and she reached her hands up to adjust the navy blue tie around his neck, and it all seemed so foreign, to see him going to work in a tie, to see the pomade in his hair, his teeth freshly whitened from a visit to the dentist the week before. He’d really made it, or at least he was finally giving the appearance that he had. Her fingers stroked the side of his cheek, the stubble pricking like men’s faces will do sometimes. A grin on his face, he kissed the palm of her hand.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Watch your TV shows and tell me all about them when I get back, but don’t get up unless you have to!”

            And out the door he went, the ghost of his cologne lingering on everything he’d touched before he left, including her forehead, including her palm, and on the water glass as well. She drank some more and settled on an episode of the Brady Bunch, where Bobby and Cindy try to make it in to the Guinness Book of World Records.

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It wasn’t that Floyd was a bad guy and it wasn’t that Alice was a bitch, although Alice could certainly see how it could be interpreted that way, and Floyd could tell that was how people might have seen it at certain moments. It was just a matter of timing, so to speak.

They met so many years before, working together at a little music shop. He was a manager there before she’d even heard of the place – a local business that her mother had been going to for years when she was growing up. It was the holidays and she was just shy of 19, looking for a little part time job to stave off the boredom while on break from school. In she went with resume in hand and not a hair out of place, walked right up to the counter and said, “Hi, I’m Alice and I was wondering if you might be hiring for the season. I’ve got my resume right here and I’m ready to work.”

Floyd was shuffling through a stack of papers. He looked up and saw her: big brown eyes, lashes fluttering, braces catching every light in the store.

“I see. Yes, we are hiring right now, just a temporary thing. But let me get you an application, just a second,” he said, pushing back the hand she had extended with her resume and walking to the back of the store.

He hired her 3 days later and on the 4^th day he knew it hadn’t been a mistake, but that it also had been. She was a hard worker, albeit a bit clumsy at times. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t knock something over with an elbow or a hip or that she didn’t step on someone’s foot or that she didn’t accidentally hang up a telephone call when taking an order. It was endearing. She was endearing; so much different from Becca, his wife, and yet they both had a similar laugh, the kind where it sounded as though they’d been shocked into hysterics and then slowly subdued into a light chuckle. The whole thing made him uneasy.

 

Constructive criticisms and other musings always appreciated!