Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Tweetbook and Twitface

so i sent the poem in the previous post to a lot of friends and other people by email. got a lot of nice responses.
one said "you should publish this, seriously." well, i have. on my blog. see?

the cousin (of the friend who is championing my novel) who is nice enough to give me publishing advice by phone, and just got a job a Harper's (OMG) said,"and this is why you should be promoting yourself and get on facebook and twitter." nice compliment!

but ugh. i do NOT want to go on tweetbook and twitface. argh. more machines/instruments of torture/things that utterly defeat me, exasperate me, prove i should have been born in an earlier century!

and how much self-promotion is too much? and, if you wish to publish, does nothing remain private? i am scared enough by blogging! have i already said too much?

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Naughty Or Nice?

The holidays are here all right
anxiety is running high
money through our hands flows out
trinkets, baubles make us pout

We've been bad as usual
our tempers are abominable
Santa is upset and sore
he might not come here anymore

Children gritch in Gucci beds
parents envision divorce in their heads
expectations are unreasonable
and no one feels quite seasonal

Maybe if we just get quiet
we will yet avoid the riot
light some candles, play a hymn
joy may still be found within

Keep it simple, keep it real
and maybe soon we'll feel the thrill
of snow on rooftops, fires in hearth
songs and silence, peace on earth

star st.claire, san diego, 2010

Monday, December 6, 2010

Escondido Bomb House

so now san diego is in the news again because of the bomb house in Escondido. and the grand solution the authorities have come up with is to burn the house to the ground.

Merry Christmas, unfortunate neighbors, here is your toxic smoke and fireworks. weeeheee!

don't get me wrong, i LOVE san diego. it is, almost, paradise. but i think we are sending tourists a bad message.

between your "junk" being groped at Lindbergh airport, the chance a bomb-maker could move in next door, and the apparent leanings of the county officials toward pyromania, someone could get hurt.

so, fellow writers, doesn't it seem more and more evident that true life is stranger than fiction?