one trick pony

i wonder
as a writer & an artist
if
i am like those
actors
who can only play one
character
no matter how excellent
they may be at that
role
they can never move past being
that guy
i wonder
if
i am a one trick pony
always drawing
the same face
always writing
in the same voice.

serious anxieties here folks. could i live with having a limited range? being a bill murray instead of a denzel washington?
i see other artists who do just the one style–doing it really well–& i do not judge them for it…
so why am i so hard on myself?
(rhetorical question–i totally know why)

wild thing

please don’t go
i’ll eat you up
i love you so

(from where the wild things are)

i was doodling the other day, worried that i will go a bit mad just writing & not drawing. so this is what i drew.
my feral self?
i was writing in my novel-in-progress for nanowrimo about feeling like a coyote. dingo. even hyena…
but definitely not foxy.
i’m thankful i have art & writing to exorcise my neurotic demons!

(i’m worried about my inkings…they all have such vacant stares…. maybe i need some focus)

i’m nanowrimo-ing

or trying to, at least
i’m working on two different projects
which has me working on stories
everyday
so, yay!
but no worries
i am still journaling
but need to get to inking
as well so i can post something
however
thoughts keep falling out of my head
before i can commit them to paper
you know how it goes
you think there is no way
you will forget something
& then it is gone.

but! until i can get some journal pages done, i will just go ahead & remind y’all that i did write a book and i do have a box of them sitting in my office waiting to be autographed & mailed to you!
you can paypal me…write me a check…mail me some cash…whatever gets this book in the mail to you.
if you need it, my email is quixoticmamama@gmail.com

xo

fort building

here is a box of me
a box of my comics
my art
my thoughts & stories
here is a box
that kind of
terrifies me
no one is going to want this,
i tell myself
oh fuck…what if someone reviews me?
how will i answer them
when they ask me,
who the fuck do i think i am….
remember
when you were 17
& you just knew
you were
destined
for greatness
ready to take on the world
a famous novelist
in the making?
what ever happened
to
that
girl?

so, yeah…. if you want an autographed copy of my book, let me know. meanwhile, i will be using them as weight while building my blanket fortress of solitude….

cut me down

like an apple tree dropping fruit
doing the math in its head
5 + 6 + 4 + 4….
like a walnut tree
chunking its nuts at the ground
chunk!
th-unk!
unsettling
setting off fear responses
fight or flight?
but the squirrels know what to do
they bury the nuts
for later
& if they forget?
the walnut tree renews itself
sending out a taproot
so deep
you can cut it down
but it will grow right back
i always grow back
i am resilient if nothing else
i am that
he cuts me down
over & over again
but i grow back
every
time.

i have been working on fiction stories for my next collection (without having properly finished my first collection.) & wondering about starting a writing group….
i wrote this in my journal as i sat enjoying an autumn day.
but it works as free verse too.
& it’s a true story.

moses jones page eight

moses jones musings on motherhood.

you know…i didn’t mean to make such a humorless main character…usually i make my lead quirky & dark…& funny. but mojo leapt from my head fully formed & seemingly without a sense of humor.
so fucking serious, moj…what gives?

letting go….

on screen ninja fights
zombies swords flash save the world…
meanwhile, life wasted

i’ve been spending my day sorting through files & files of stories. some are just a couple of words, an idea. some are complete & surprisingly well written stories. i have found that a lot of my stories have a similar voice. i am taking those snippets and adding them to a novel i am working on with the same voice.
threading it all together.
i am also posting some of them over on my patreon site & considering some for possible publication?
this haiku was in the middle of a file full of short stories/flash fiction i had written back in a time i used to submit to the site Helium all the time.

i am pretty sure it is about my ex-husband & my feelings about his video game addiction.
pretty sure.
& this was not the only written piece i found obsessing about my ex-husband & the wrongs he did to me.

which brings me to my tarot card reading for the beltane new moon. a lot of good stuff in this reading.
but the bad stuff…not letting go. the moon crossing me warns about it…so does the card in my “near future” position of the spread.
so i wonder. what is it that i am not letting go of? all i can think of is this anger i still have toward my ex-husband.
how do i let go?
i truly want to.

some time later…

okay, so! i was quietly obsessing about all the stuff i should be doing here at my mom’s house as squatter/care-taker, when i thought, “maybe that’s it…maybe i am stuck here–actually stuck at this place.” worrying about the lawn, the wet basement, and then reminding myself, “it’s not my goddamned property, monkey-boy!” (buckaroo banzai)…. my mom called me the other day about the basement & spent the entire call bitching about my sister who is trying her best to care for my mom. my mom said, “she was never my favorite.”
what the fuck, mom?
she also bitched about dad dying & leaving her to deal with this house & property that she wanted to sell years ago. i kind of agree that that was a shitty thing to do.
the next day, as i was attempting to meditate (meditation is surprisingly difficult for my loud brain to do,) my phone rang with “pure evil” coming up on the screen. so i kept on trying to meditate, but got a sick feeling in my stomach. my mom left a message, but before i could check the message, i checked my email where my sister (or brother-in-law as they share an email) emailed me to say, “don’t answer the phone!”
so i deleted the message from my mom without listening to it.

long story short, my mom doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me & i know damn well that i was never her favorite either.
she only calls me on occasion when no one else will listen to her.
so why am i stressing out trying to care for a place that is not mine for a woman who can’t stand me?
i am free to leave.
but it’s not easy leaving a place where i don’t have to worry about rent & utilities & keeping a roof over my four minions’ heads….
have i sold my soul for a free place to live? it kind of feels that way.
it kind of feels like that scene in labyrinth where sarah is in her “bedroom” & has forgotten her quest because she is surrounded by superficially comforting “things.”
or, as i wrote a couple days ago, it feels like “hotel california.”
i have often compared this experience to the shining as well….
and there in my tarot spread, you can see. i am stuck in “opposition” while change is my conflict card.

change should not be a conflict for me. i love change.

so i have chosen a third town as a possible new home. i was going to road trip there tomorrow, but the forecast calls for storms & rain today & the two days after.
i am stuck.
the basement might flood again if i am not here.
but how long can this go on?
i tried to mow the lawn today, and the mower died. am i going to hire someone to repair it? or someone to mow these acres of grass?
or am i just going to walk away?

i want to just walk away.
i really truly do.
so why do i feel so stuck?

better late than never

when i was not even yet 20
i had written
three or four books
& working on the next one
plunking away
on an electric typewriter
sending off pages & pages
to publishers
& agents
getting back
an impressive collection of rejections
i knew i was going to be a famous
author
i knew it…
but life got in the way
& hope
dreams
years
lost
to
“but what are you really going to be?”
&
“shouldn’t you be looking for a job
with health insurance”
(punk rock little me
thinking
as long as i have planned parenthood
why do i need insurance?)
somehow
without looking
i am almost fifty
still punk rock
but not yet
nor
anytime soon
a famous
author
however!
soon
a published
author.

my collection of stories–some from those times when i was 20…some from an almost 50 (but still punk rock!!) mother of four…and all the time in between–my collection of short stories has been accepted by a small press in ohio.
a punk rock press, of course.

i should be excited…& i think i am…but maybe after so many years of being quietly unpublished, i am not sure how to make noise about being published….
give me a day or two.

meanwhile, i have started a new art journal series about my being feral. that is, decidedly not a domestic goddess. it is over on my patreon page along with my other art journal pages.

and happy earth day, y’all…but, remember, every day is earth day!!

projects! projects! projects!

(i don’t know if anyone ever notices…but i often use movie quotes or mangled movie references in my posts. it amuses me. this one is from robocop (the real one) in reference to clarence saying, “guns! guns! guns!” man, i love robocop….)

so, idle hands being the devil’s playground…or something like that…. i am, at least, keeping busy despite my mental breakdown.
so yay for that.

over on my patreon page, you can find the full posts of an except from my novel-in-progress: chasing ghosts
i’ve been working on it for over 20 years now, so you know it’s good.

also! i am finishing up illustrating benjamin davis’s story fetish. one more page to go on this installment. hopefully he & i will continue working together, & i will be doing more in the future.

and, as always, my adventures as the invisible exhibitionist continue via my art journal self-portrait series.

well worth the dollar a month!

drawing in cars with boys

here’s what it looks like when i try to draw a car

i’m trying to illustrate a scene from my novel-in-progress chasing ghosts where the male lead drives a ’65 impala.

i can’t draw cars…but, compared to the other things i find i can’t do lately…this one, at least, i can use some artistic license with.

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