Tag Archive | on writing

thank god david had some eggs

otherwise I’d be sitting here right now starving.

For the first night in many here there were a plethora of Texas music choices thrown in with the monthly chick happy hour all in one night… forcing me to choose. Unfortunately, I had to eliminate so the TMP project with Ruthie, Houston Marchman and Kacy Crowley. I chose friends at the happy hour and Adam Carroll at Poor David’s.

Happy Hour was a host of new people again and good friends as well. I said I write when asked what I do for a hobby and then was subsequently introduced as a writer. It made me feel like a fraud. I found myself backpedaling every time I was introduced as a writer by this new acquaintance. No, I’d say. I write as a hobby. I work for a non-profit. Then, I was subjected to the most benial poetry ever. I liked it at first but then a poem was produced that applied to every story anyone told. This was a shame really because the International Scout alone was interesting. It did create more interesting conversations than I would have expected for a happy hour occasion. Met someone who wants to be producer. I wonder if it would be unethical to steal a story idea that was shared. As soon it said, my mind just went buzzing with ideas. I could have written fifty pages just in that one moment.

Adam was great and I am glad I decided to go. He inspires me to write in many ways. He’s better than Dylan and might be the next unappreciated, Townes Van Zandt. I wrote two new poems just for being in the room with him.

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Another day another dollar

Overwhelmed in cliches today…

I wanted to go for a ride on my motorcycle today. Anything to get me out of the house. But it seems a tropical storm is inching its way across Texas. As pooh would say, I could put my big boots on. Adventure always finds you when you put your big boots on.

I think my mood is turning foul like the weather. Working at home is great. Most of the time it suits my loner attitude to a “T”. But I find myself today wondering as I sit in front of my office window looking out at the 20 acres of woodlands that makes up my backyard, why are you always inside working? Tied to the technology is the real answer.

Words come creeping in…

I’m never as invisible as I want to be…
fixed in this life of normalcy.

I wish my poetry would come in full poems and not random lines…

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