Another year over; and one begins.
El milagro navideño es que respiro.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
6 Word Memoirs: November 30, 2010 - NaNoWriMo, I Am a Winner
Balzac was birthed from an idea of what would happen if the coffee producing nations of the world boycotted the United States.
And now it's an idea on paper. And will need lots and lots of love and editing!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
6 Word Memoirs: November 14, 2010 - NaNoWriMo
I write because I think I can.
Plot be damned, I am writing!
Plot be damned, I am writing!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
6 Word Memoirs: August 20, 2010 - Surprise (and stuff)
The newness frightens,
invites curiousity,
and leaves us laughing.
invites curiousity,
and leaves us laughing.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
6 Word Memoirs: July 26, 2010 - A Whole New Me
I was gifted her beautiful furniture.
With drawers I can now organize!
With drawers I can now organize!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
April 5, 2010 - In the seasons of change
We were asked to do a freewrite as an ice breaker to today's training.
Our prompt? "In the seasons of change"
Here's what I came up with:
In the seasons of change the kingdom was completely unaware
that it was happening.
Kings and queens still kept their court, counting taxes and
sending soldiers to war.
The priests still guided souls to heaven in their humble ways
and the farmers still sowed.
The children noticed it first. Beautiful buds in the trees.
Birds were singing, "It's here! It's here!"
They danced in circles while sweethearts stole kisses
and none of the peasants noticed, backs bent in their toil.
The battlefield clashed with swords and howls and blood
and bread baked in hearths.
Grandmother spun yarn in her rocking chair,
but she, too, caught wind of it and let the new lavender scent fill her nose
In the season of change the young folks asked the kings and queens
why men were sent to die and held their gaze in earnest
The advisers mumbled, disconcerted; the fools laughed an uneasy laughter.
And still the children held their gaze, in earnest.
The kind looked upon the children and began to open his mouth.
The queen raised her hand to stop him and spoke:
"We send them to die, my children, because
no one's asked us to stop them."
(c) 2010
Our prompt? "In the seasons of change"
Here's what I came up with:
In the seasons of change the kingdom was completely unaware
that it was happening.
Kings and queens still kept their court, counting taxes and
sending soldiers to war.
The priests still guided souls to heaven in their humble ways
and the farmers still sowed.
The children noticed it first. Beautiful buds in the trees.
Birds were singing, "It's here! It's here!"
They danced in circles while sweethearts stole kisses
and none of the peasants noticed, backs bent in their toil.
The battlefield clashed with swords and howls and blood
and bread baked in hearths.
Grandmother spun yarn in her rocking chair,
but she, too, caught wind of it and let the new lavender scent fill her nose
In the season of change the young folks asked the kings and queens
why men were sent to die and held their gaze in earnest
The advisers mumbled, disconcerted; the fools laughed an uneasy laughter.
And still the children held their gaze, in earnest.
The kind looked upon the children and began to open his mouth.
The queen raised her hand to stop him and spoke:
"We send them to die, my children, because
no one's asked us to stop them."
(c) 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
March 27, 2010 : 7 Minute Exercise from a Word Pool Generated in Class
Word List:
Tortilla
Flats
Survive
War
Hover
Hallucination
Pay
Pentalty
Chueca
Respect
[Editor's Note: I hit 6 out of the 10 words. We had 7 minutes to write a story using these 10 words. This is what came out.]
"Respect, chueca. Respect."
Eyes ogled the little set wannabe as La Bruja eyed her over. Her hair was slicked to its side ponytail swoop perfection with a glittery tank emblazoned with "Princess" in large, gothic letters on it. Her jeans were painted on and her sneakers were shiny pale blue Jordans.
La Bruja hovered over her, eyeing her to her soul. She had made it to her final step to belong to the set, but she misspoke.
The ladies of the flats were tight. A feisty group of brown and black girls: trim, fierce, and always cared for their own. Nobody messed with them. Their credo was to survive.
Mari knew she'd pay for her misstep. She mentioned La Bruja's scar when responding to one of her final questions. She meant to say "car" but she stumbled. And stuttered, "Scar."
La Bruja was sensitive to her scar, a souvenir from a fight she won against a black samoan girl from the 80th block.
What would be the penalty?
Tortilla
Flats
Survive
War
Hover
Hallucination
Pay
Pentalty
Chueca
Respect
[Editor's Note: I hit 6 out of the 10 words. We had 7 minutes to write a story using these 10 words. This is what came out.]
"Respect, chueca. Respect."
Eyes ogled the little set wannabe as La Bruja eyed her over. Her hair was slicked to its side ponytail swoop perfection with a glittery tank emblazoned with "Princess" in large, gothic letters on it. Her jeans were painted on and her sneakers were shiny pale blue Jordans.
La Bruja hovered over her, eyeing her to her soul. She had made it to her final step to belong to the set, but she misspoke.
The ladies of the flats were tight. A feisty group of brown and black girls: trim, fierce, and always cared for their own. Nobody messed with them. Their credo was to survive.
Mari knew she'd pay for her misstep. She mentioned La Bruja's scar when responding to one of her final questions. She meant to say "car" but she stumbled. And stuttered, "Scar."
La Bruja was sensitive to her scar, a souvenir from a fight she won against a black samoan girl from the 80th block.
What would be the penalty?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
6 Word Memoir: March 3, 2010 Worry, Worry, Worry
From my elementary school music class:
Keep cool. Keep cool. Simmer down.
Simmer down. Worry. Worry. Worry. Worry.
Today I worry, worry, worry, worry.
Keep cool. Keep cool. Simmer down.
Simmer down. Worry. Worry. Worry. Worry.
Today I worry, worry, worry, worry.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Draft: Socorro Reyes Quintana
Socorro Reyes Quintana, abuelita de Mina Jophrey-Reyes
Siempre le llamarón "La Reina". Socorro drew attention to herself like the sunrise, like the moonrise when it's full and gold and large in the sky, like an ambulance siren passing buy. Your eyes were always drawn to her and your ears would wait for the music of her voice. Her laughter fell like multi-colored jewels from her lips and her stories were gentle pearls to guide you but never told you what to do. always had a double-meaning.
People came to Socorro because she was a wise woman. Her garden flowered with the seasons. She dried the herbs and sold them in town for medicina. was always plentiful. She watched the night skies with her homemade telescopes and spend rainy afternoons during the aguaceros in her library reading. The women came to Socorro to learn what their husbands would not permit them to learn. The men came to Socorro for what they were ashamed they didn't know. The children came to Socorro for her famous and sweet agua de jamaica and to play on her garden swing. Everyone loved and respected Socorro.
Socorro loved her pueblito with its little church on the sea. Their ancestors had come with companions and slaves of Columbus – humble, strong, and intelligent people who knew how to survive. She also knew they had the help of los Santos.
She knew this because her abuela had told her. And her abuela’s abuela told her, and her abuela’s abuela had told her. And each generation of woman told her daughter to always remember.
After her daily visits with her neighbors, she would settle down meditate to listen Los Tres Panchos and dance with the portrait of her husband for one song. Don Pedro had died in a fishing accident during Hurricane Hugo in 1992. They had been married for 27 years and had two daughters and a son: Maria Teresa (Maite), Dayanara Arely (Dayar) y Juan Carlos (Juca).
Socorro had not gone to la Universidad, but had worked for an astronomy professor there. She also had worked in the libraries and ate as many books as she could. Her eyes were always keen to the skies and she watched as they changed over the year.
On one evening in October, two weeks before the end of hurricane season, Socorro was walking barefoot in her garden. The flamboyan flowers were a pale yellow in the moonlight.
Just beyond the boughs of the trees she saw a streak of green paint the sky. The coquis fell silent. All she heard was the sound of the ocean’s muffled waves in the distance. Not even a radio or rustle of wind in the leaves. The stillness unsettled her and stood her arm hairs on end, so she crossed herself, put on her wistful face ,and remembered when she discovered Orion for the first time. There were three stars in his belt, one for each king.
“¡Socorro!” came an excited whisper from the side fence. “¡Socorro! Something terrible has happened! A ship has sunk off Culebra!”
Socorro had heard her neighbors speak of their children working for the American military. They were proud of the good jobs and the money they left in the village every weekend. Still, somehow she didn’t trust all the secrecy surrounding the base on Culebra.
“¿Que dices, Carmen? Come in. Sit and tell me what you’ve heard.”
Carmen told Socorro of large military ship in the bioluminescent bay. Something. A rocket? A comet? A torpedo? Had struck the head of the ship and it sank. Most of the sailors had abandoned ship and were saved, but the ship burned with a strange green fire and shot off flares. It burned to the depths of the sea, an eerie green like a ghost being trapped down in hell.
“Dios mio” whispered Socorro under her breath. She held her locket thoughtlessly in her fingers, rubbing the etching of Atabey.
“Take me to the boat launch, Carmen. I want to see for myself.”
Socorro locked the front door, looked at the portrait of her husband, locked the back door, and then stepped into the passenger side of Carmen’s pale blue 1970 Chevy Camino.
Siempre le llamarón "La Reina". Socorro drew attention to herself like the sunrise, like the moonrise when it's full and gold and large in the sky, like an ambulance siren passing buy. Your eyes were always drawn to her and your ears would wait for the music of her voice. Her laughter fell like multi-colored jewels from her lips and her stories were gentle pearls to guide you but never told you what to do. always had a double-meaning.
People came to Socorro because she was a wise woman. Her garden flowered with the seasons. She dried the herbs and sold them in town for medicina. was always plentiful. She watched the night skies with her homemade telescopes and spend rainy afternoons during the aguaceros in her library reading. The women came to Socorro to learn what their husbands would not permit them to learn. The men came to Socorro for what they were ashamed they didn't know. The children came to Socorro for her famous and sweet agua de jamaica and to play on her garden swing. Everyone loved and respected Socorro.
Socorro loved her pueblito with its little church on the sea. Their ancestors had come with companions and slaves of Columbus – humble, strong, and intelligent people who knew how to survive. She also knew they had the help of los Santos.
She knew this because her abuela had told her. And her abuela’s abuela told her, and her abuela’s abuela had told her. And each generation of woman told her daughter to always remember.
After her daily visits with her neighbors, she would settle down meditate to listen Los Tres Panchos and dance with the portrait of her husband for one song. Don Pedro had died in a fishing accident during Hurricane Hugo in 1992. They had been married for 27 years and had two daughters and a son: Maria Teresa (Maite), Dayanara Arely (Dayar) y Juan Carlos (Juca).
Socorro had not gone to la Universidad, but had worked for an astronomy professor there. She also had worked in the libraries and ate as many books as she could. Her eyes were always keen to the skies and she watched as they changed over the year.
On one evening in October, two weeks before the end of hurricane season, Socorro was walking barefoot in her garden. The flamboyan flowers were a pale yellow in the moonlight.
Just beyond the boughs of the trees she saw a streak of green paint the sky. The coquis fell silent. All she heard was the sound of the ocean’s muffled waves in the distance. Not even a radio or rustle of wind in the leaves. The stillness unsettled her and stood her arm hairs on end, so she crossed herself, put on her wistful face ,and remembered when she discovered Orion for the first time. There were three stars in his belt, one for each king.
“¡Socorro!” came an excited whisper from the side fence. “¡Socorro! Something terrible has happened! A ship has sunk off Culebra!”
Socorro had heard her neighbors speak of their children working for the American military. They were proud of the good jobs and the money they left in the village every weekend. Still, somehow she didn’t trust all the secrecy surrounding the base on Culebra.
“¿Que dices, Carmen? Come in. Sit and tell me what you’ve heard.”
Carmen told Socorro of large military ship in the bioluminescent bay. Something. A rocket? A comet? A torpedo? Had struck the head of the ship and it sank. Most of the sailors had abandoned ship and were saved, but the ship burned with a strange green fire and shot off flares. It burned to the depths of the sea, an eerie green like a ghost being trapped down in hell.
“Dios mio” whispered Socorro under her breath. She held her locket thoughtlessly in her fingers, rubbing the etching of Atabey.
“Take me to the boat launch, Carmen. I want to see for myself.”
Socorro locked the front door, looked at the portrait of her husband, locked the back door, and then stepped into the passenger side of Carmen’s pale blue 1970 Chevy Camino.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
10 enero 2010: 6 Word Memoirs - New Year & Family
The year begins with my family.
My family's jewels lie in music.
My family's jewels lie in music.
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