Spellbinding stories of mystic love and soulful hope . . .

Posts tagged ‘writers conferences’

Galaxy of Disappointed Disillusionment: you were in love with the writing once . . . .

galaxy nexus wallpaper-WmOIYou were in love with the writing once. A kind of love that churns the belly. The kind of love that wraps around you warm and alive and pulsing. Trusting kind of love. And you think that love will never leave you, nor would you ever leave it.  You think it will be as strong and lively as it is in the beginning of all that began all the way to the what should never ever end because it’s too beautiful to die. Too perfect.

But things begin to change. Subtly at first. Insidiously. Oh, it’s little things here and there that don’t mean much—at least that’s what you tell yourself. But all those tiny things begin to pack together, sticky and mean, tightly, balling up hard and fast, until there before you is what you tell yourself is only a sweet marble you think isn’t so bad—it’ll still fit into your pocket! You can carry it around and won’t feel the weight of it at all. But it grows. And you can’t carry it around anymore. It first settles in the room you always wrote in, but it soon pushes out into the hallway, and into the bedroom, and the kitchen, and the living room, and the entire house becomes filled with it—it pushes against you, insistent to be noticed. It is a Moon,  a Neptune, an entire galaxy right outside your mind’s window. It groans with its own weight.

DSC09985Still, you think you can live with it. You think you can soldier on. You think that everything will be okay if only This Thing would happen, or That Thing will occur. “If Only” becomes raggedy with your use of it, what with your rolling the If Onlies around in your head until they are barely recognizable. Still. You loved! It all had meaning! Didn’t you? Didn’t it? Doubt sets in. Were you loved back? Maybe it was only an altered state of being that led you down into the most pleasurable of senses. Why, before the Galaxy of Disappointed Disillusionment, you’d even allowed yourself to become a little arrogant. Held your head a little higher—after all, you were in The Club. That Club with those heavy heavy gates—the ones that swing open randomly and without sentimentality. You often imagined the gates closing behind you, yet this time you are pushed back to the outside.

You want out anyway, you say. You want out and you don’t know when, or if, you’ll return. You want your space. You want time to think. You want to do other things. Find yourself, you say, wincing at the cliche. You’ll do: Fun things. Other necessary things. Things that don’t require pushing through that galaxy of hard knotted failings and failures and fails.

You soon forget (you say emphatically) what drew you to that love. You don’t remember (you think most apparently) the feeling of joy you had just by opening your laptop and your mind—flutter flutter went the beautiful creation butterflies—how lovely they were! Oh how you hate them now! Hate them!

The heart of you is crushing under the weight of the groaning Galaxy.

Who cares?, you say. I don’t!, you say. And you trippity trip about, laughing gaily on the outside, while on the inside you are slowly terribly dying. The Galaxy suffocates.

imagesOne day, you are alone. Perhaps walking in the woods, or down an aisle at the grocery store, or driving your car aimlessly, or most obviously of course staring at the darkened night ceiling. And a blinding light explodes while millions of hard knotted disappointments and disillusions Supernova. You are blinded for seventy-two hours; burned down to the bone for seventy-two more.

Then the quiet talks to you. You rise, walk through the house, glowing embers dying and ashes flying. Something gives way. A loosening.

You run then, opening windows and doors until every window and every door is wide, and out and out and out on a brilliant wind goes the ashes, and all that is left is You and You.

Something stirs. Something old and ancient. Something you recognize.

Fingers to keys. A letter appears. Another. Another. A word. A sentence. A paragraph. A page. Five pages, sixty pages, one hundred pages plus three.


Sometimes, you say, all else must be burned away so your new skin can feel anew.

Screen+Shot+2014-02-25+at+12.17.37+PMYour fingertips are alive. Push push push on the keys. It is like music.

You recognize, you say, that you never loved fully before but only with conditions. Love must Be, you say. It is its own and no other.

You say: each hard knot of disappointment must be kneaded and chewed and swallowed and digested and then shat out and flushed away.

A grand love. A passionate love. A true and honest love.

It finds you, grabs you by the beating heart and squeezes the life into you.

Fingers on the keys. Push. Push. Letter by word by paragraph by page.  Five, six, seven, eight, open up the heavy gates.

(. . . and still, as you push the keys, the if onlies and the what ifs and the why can’ts ind the little nooks and crannies of you and settle in. You push the keys and try not to notice the hard knot you couldn’t swallow as it falls to the ground and quivers.)

When you meet the Asshole Author . . . .

imagesOn an episode of Super Fun Night, (and Rebel Wilson is adorable in this–funny and endearing) the Marika character stands in line for hours just to see the woman who played a “superhero” character on television. Marika wants to tell the woman how much her work means to her, how she admires her—she’s even dressed like the “superhero” character. However, when Marika steps up to have her memento signed, the woman is rude to her. Later, Marika sees her alone and tries again to tell her what her work meant—this time, the “superhero” woman is even ruder, and Marika, disillusioned, goes home and packs away all those mementos. The woman Marika thought she would meet was not the kickass superhero, but instead a bitter shitass of an asshole.

And I, too, was that bitter shitass of an asshole. Yeah. Me. Sweet lil ole kickass Kat.

zoo-signOnly a few months after I’d spent weeks by my father’s side, and then still had to bear his (unexpected) death, I traveled to a conference. I was exhausted, still grieving, but thought the time away would be therapeutic—especially since I’d see my good friends there. Most of the eight hour drive was easy enough, until the last hour when, with growing horror, I realized I had a UTI heading my way—folks who have never had one, well you won’t understand how the very thought of this happening at home is bad enough, but on the road? Oh fuck.

By time I arrive where we are to stay, I’m frantic, calling my doctor, calling the pharmacy at home.  I finally find the “emergency” kit with a few days worth of antibiotics inside and gobble two down, hoping that’ll get me started, knowing, too, those antibiotics are going to make me ill–didn’t care–I know the chills and pain will soon start and am hoping to head them off. When I pull into where we are to stay—a group of little “bungalows—“ my phone rings. My friend: the “bungalows” are horrible. Nasty. In the midst of renovations so weird that nothing makes a lick of sense. We’d have to find someplace else to stay. During a peak tourist season. Eight hours drive. UTI. Grief. Exhaustion. No rooms. Oh, fuck, redux.

Ended up five of us had to share a small hotel room. Of the four women I’d be sharing with, one I had never met, and that’s where the asshole author comes in. Eight hour drive. UTI. Grief. Exhaustion. Five women in one little room. Fuck, fuck, and fuck.

He was an ass . . . but . . .  wasn't I, too?

He was an ass . . . but . . . wasn’t I, too?

I was barely holding onto my Assholeyness, when during the panel I was on the next day, the panel moderator introduced me thusly: “And now, former Playboy Playmate model Kat Magendie!” When I tell you the top of my head blew off, it did, for it was bad enough he’d earlier said to me something to this effect, but now on a panel?, in front of other writers and writer-hopefuls? Ka-BOOM! It seems in slow motion now, the way my head turned to him ooooh-soooo-slooowwwly, and it seems the words spewing from my mouth fling and slap him upside his head: “You fucking call me that again and I’m gonna Kick.Your.Fucking.Ass.” Yeah. I said that. On the panel. With wide eyes staring at me from the audience—although I’d like to think most of them thought, “Hey, he deserved it. You go girl.” Lawd.

The logistics of the crowded hotel room I won’t even relay. I will say that the next few days are a blur of me feeling ill, angry, pissy, crowded, annoyed, exhausted, sleepless, and generally hating everyone on the planet and then some.

And in this state is how the woman I’d never met—a woman who’d read my books and was looking forward to meeting the author behind the words—came to know The Asshole Author. (She was also in the audience of that panel that day, too. Yeah. Oops. Huhn. Lawd.)

bat shit crazy

bat shit crazy

While we can tell ourselves we must always be on our best behavior. While we tell ourselves that our face out to the world should be one of cheerful appreciation for our readers and always to be professional and courteous and kind, honestly, there are times when we just feel like shit, or bat-shit cray-cray. When we are assholes. When we want to bury our heads under the covers and shout: GO AWAY!

We’re human. We’re fallible.

After the conference was over, and once I was home and rested, I contacted the woman, and without giving up excuses (I hate excuses), I apologized to her for being an asshole. Would it have been better for me to keep a happy face and never let that Ass side of me to show? Yup. But was there any possible way that was going to happen during that time? Nope. Probably not.

Next time you meet an author, actor, singer, artist, why, anyone at all, really—whatever/whomever—and they are the Asshole from Hell, maybe, just maybe, give them a little bit of a break. Maybe, just maybe, they are having a hard time, are exhausted, are feeling stretched too thin, are feeling vulnerable and scared. Have nothing Photos, Video, few Words . . . "Granny Kat" in Oregonnothing not a danged ole thing left to give.

The words and worlds we authors create, the face we show on social networking, really IS us, but only a part of us. The part we try not to let you see is the fearful, anxiety-ridden, damaged, fallible, child-like innocence that’s been rattled, hopeful, rageful, Asshole, part of us. But oh, it’s there. Yeah. It’s there all right, and if the conditions are just right, you just may have met that Asshole instead of the person you so hoped to meet.

And for that, we give our most sincere apologies. Except for the Real Assholes—they don’t give a flying fuck one way or another.

002I think you know which one I am. Right? Right!

The Lightning Charmer coverThank you for your kind words and messages about The Lightning Charmer! I am forever grateful, and that, my friends, is the truth.

Monday Classroom: Learning to say “No” and learning to pull back just a bit from the chaos

Hi y’all! Even though I write this before I jump in the Boopmobile to go to the deep south, it will not go “live” until today.

The place where my friends and I will be staying in or around or near Fairhope may not have internet connection, and we are extending our stay at least a week or a little more beyond the conference. Now, at first when I learned this “maybe no internet connection thang,” I was all a-jitter. How would I do my blog posts? Because I don’t have time to write up enough posts in the “schedule posts” thangee. I’m in the midst of finishing up Family Graces galley proofing! Lawd! and packing and thising and thating. What about Facebook and twitter? Oh woe is me! What ever would I do? *JITTERY JUMPITY LAWDYNESS ABOUNDS!*

But then as I scurry around this morning trying to do all I need to do before I leave, my chest tightened and my eyes

if you see me, give me a wave and a honk!

wilded, and I thought, “Maybe this will be a bit of a relief.” There. I said it. Ha! It is said. Want to say it with  me: sometimes we need a bit of relief or else we will burn -out ourselves to a crispy critter! I have been going crazy-go-to-meeting for a while now with only a few breaks, and even in some of those breaks I still worked.

Because folkses, I will admit that I have been all over the place lately. I am supposed to be working on my organization, but have let chaos pull me into discombobulation – lawd lawd h’ep me! The new book will suffer and not be written as it should if I do not learn to relax and let go of some things so I can concentrate on the writing–considering this as a Business, I am not being a good Manager/Owner of my Business. As well, I become C R A Z Y when I do not write regularly. Oh, no – ask GMR – I become a M E S S! My head wants to explode with all the gobbledeegoop that needs to be drained by regular writing . . . yup. Trust me on this.

But, as well, I am going to have to learn, or re-learn, the word “No,” even when I really really want to say, “Of course I’ll do it!” Thing is, there is so much I do enjoy doing and have enjoyed and I am honored to be asked–and that is sincere–but when my inbox becomes full of requests and I am scattered willy nilly, I do no one any good, for then I may fall into the trap of doing many things not-so-well instead of a few things very well. I love helping people, but I have to recognize I realistically can’t help everyone who may ask, so please do understand if you ask me and I say no, it makes me sad to say no. *Very Sad Face Here*

As well, I love my social networking because it keeps me in contact with you all–readers, colleagues, friends, family, so I won’t give those up, but I can use them in a more wise way.

So whilst I am gone, I am going to think and ponder and pondificate these things and I hope to come back with a good solid answer to how I should become more organized, which includes the phrase, “I am sorry; I wish I could but I can’t” or some variation of it.

Now, if we end up at a cafe with wireless, then I’ll pop in and say hello, but if not, then for the next ten days or so, I will be

a fairhope sunset

POOF! Discapeered. There’s that flip in my stomach again–haw! Gawlee, Kat, let it go!

There are plenty of posts in the archives, and below, and on my old blogspot blog, if you misses ole me *teeheehee* but I bet many of you may think, “Hey, this is one less thing to think about today. La la la tee dah. Ding Dong the yappity writer is gone, hi ho the cheerio, sing it high and sing it low, ding dong the yappity writer is goooooonnnne!”  Huhn. Of course, I want you to miss me – haw! – because just because :-D. And if I am gone all this time, I hope you won’t forget me and return when I do – *pwease!*

Now, go have a wonderful day. I will see you, well, I am not sure–guess that remains to be discovered. Ohhhh! Isn’t that sumpin!

Friday Linky Love: Gumbo Writers & Fairhope Conferences, Penneys & Cartier, Ocean & Interview

Kat, Angie, Alaine

First, I visited Marilee Brothers at Book Blather and am there now, well not really there now, since I am here now, but I am there, too — lawd, I can see me caught up in this loop with all my crazy-arse brainackities. She’s a fellow BB author and I love it when we support each other!

My bestie and fellow Publishing Editor of R&T Angie Ledbetter is back on her Gumbo Writer blog after a “life is insane” hiatus. She offers up  fun, funnies, recipes, and all things wonderful. If you haven’t been by, go see her, or if you haven’t been by in a while, she’s back! She’s one of the most wonderful, giving, cool-arse women you will ever come to know.

the beginning of the mischief in fairhope

And, at the Gulf Coast Association of Creative Writing Teachers conference Angie and I will be attending along with other colleagues and friends in Fairhope, Ala (where we went last year and . . . I wrote a post about some of it —Girl’s Night Out in Fairhope Alabama–Starting with the End & the Bloody Man Blues — . . . “there’s something to be said from sitting outside of a bar when you are not inebriated but have all your clear-headed faculties  . . . ” ) *post script – the inebriation came earlier* -Laughing). Our  R&T Managing Editor Cyn Toups, our RT Art Director Alaine Benard (my other bestie!), and one of our poetry editors Marilyn Shapley will be on the panel for Ekphrasis Squared — Hybrid Synergy of Art to Poem, Poem to Canvas. Angie and I decided we probably won’t be on a panel this year and instead attend and enjoy panels (but one never knows)– if you are in the area, come to the conference! Fees are only around $30, and it’s a laid back group, and held in a beautiful little town.

wheee - gimme another martini!

I have loved JC Penney for a while now, for they have clothes that bridge that gap between “this is too young for me” and “this is too old for me” — I mean, I don’t want to wear granny clothes and I don’t want to wear twenty-somethings clothes, and Penney’s has a little of everything–including clothing lines that fit my style. So, now they’re changing how they do business and asked Ellen DeGeneres to be their spokesperson–Loving this! As well, I went in to Penney’s the other day and I don’t care that it’s all about “creating buzz” – it was just so cool to see things marked without the .99 on them. Now, that may mean in some instances I am paying one cent more (like if something that is $14.99 is instead $15) but I don’t care, I just love the concept and it’s something new to give my jittery chaotic mind a “whooo-haaa! new new new new shiny thing!” And they have the best sales–I picked up several shirts for $4 and $5–and not just because they were so cheap, but because I LOVED them. Go JC Penneys!

I adore OCEAN Magazine — editor Diane Buccheri gives of her time and money and more time and more money to create a print magazine that celebrates and protects our oceans. I know she is always looking for poetry and prose submissions, as well as photography–all in and of and about and around the ocean. I have been honored to have had poetry, prose, and photographs published  there. I’m also a subscriber – because I believe in her and her philosophy of honoring and protecting our Oceans. Please do check out her website and if you are moved to do so, subscribe.

And finally, I had this video on my Facebook page, so those of you who are round those parts may have already seen it, but if not, this is a commercial that had me actually pressing the “stop” to my fast forwarding through commercials, rewinding, and then watching the entire beautiful thing. I don’t care if it’s a commercial, or even that I doubt I’ll ever own anything from Cartier, this commercial WOW’d me – it made me want to write something fantastical and epic and mystical!

I am working on the fifth novel and so excited to be back to work on something new. The last book in the Graces Trilogy (Family Graces) will be out this spring – next month – and I can’t wait to hold that in my hands (in print and kindle version! :-D) . . . I have the best job EVER! Now, y’all go do the day and be filled with gratitude for this life we live on this beautiful earth.

Tag Cloud


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,839 other followers

%d bloggers like this: