Dark Night of the Blogger's Soul

This is blog, so once again I'm procrastinating instead of doing a rewrite or plotting a new novel.

I've been searching for my soul--which took a detour from the highway of my life about three years ago. Before my divorce, I knew where I was going, but my GPS leads me round and round on these back roads.

The first year I spent lost in ancient Rome while I wrote a romantic suspense novel entitled, Vestal Virgin, preferring to imagine being tortured and buried alive than face my current life. The feedback: good writing, but too dark. Too dark for the Roman Empire and Nero? Does that give you some insight on my divorced state of mind?

Then short stories started popping out. Dark (imagine that) comedies about the breakdown of my marriage and my attempts at dating after being with one man for twenty years. Six months of Match.com provided me with plenty of material.

The back roads turned to dirt and mud, then disappeared. Dragging myself from the bog, I clung to words of poetry. I wrote this while I was there:


How many noes?

How many noes
will be required
to dismantle our friendship?

How many questions
must be left hanging
in the night?

I remember making pasta,
kneading dough
as smooth as skin.

Water coming to a boil,
steam beading
on our foreheads.

Rivulets running
down my chest, your back,
as the pasta cooked.

Even in that rising heat
you never let me
quench your thirst.

How many noes
before we say goodbye
and really mean it?

Standing here,
in this Zen emptiness
I search the dark for yes.

"City of Joy" a poem

My driver wears a turban
and white gloves.
I stare out of the window,
sipping bottled water.

Fumes from burning tires
sting my lungs.
Through smoke,
an elephant appears.

People walk barefoot
along the highway
avoiding mud-holes
and construction.

Others peer from hovels,
plastic bags for rooftops.
Family and ancient gods
shield them from the elements.

A cow wanders
along the overpass
past billboard gurus
and Bollywood smiles.

Motorcycles, rickshaws, bikes,
women wearing rainbow saris,
beggars, dogs and businessmen,
no one stopping for red lights.

Back home in Colorado,
cars zoom along an empty road,
people locked inside,
buckled-up in safety-belts.

I press my nose
against the glass
attempting to get
closer to this life.

Craft Services: a great career for masochists in the movie industry

If you've been wondering what I've been up to (I know I've been wondering), I've been working on a movie called The PowerHouse Kids. It's a series of short webisodes that, strung together, form a half-hour movie to promote the Durango Discovery Museum at the PowerHouse--soon to be the home of an awesome science museum, for kids and adults. Very cool. Anyway, I wrote two of the episodes, so naturally I've volunteered to do whatever it takes to help this movie get made.

That's how I got roped into "Craft Services." Craft Services isn't basketweaving for the crew (although that might be appropriate), it's making sure that 40 people are fed for a week on a budget of $200 bucks. Did I mention I'm insane? Fortunately, Durangotangs are incredibly generous and the Discovery Museum is non-profit, so although begging for free meals takes time, it's do-able. I didn't realize, however, "Craft Services" is synonomous with SLAVE. Eight-year-olds demanding non-organic iced tea! (Sure, kid, I'll spoon in some fertilizer.) Adults throwing temper tantrums if their (FREE) lunch is a minute late. If you enjoy abuse and stellar egos, if your idea of fun is running to the supermarket a dozen times a day or spilling an entire carafe of coffee in your car (who needs aroma therapy?) or lugging around tables of food from one set to another(and then lugging them back again), Craft Services might be the ideal career for you.

Gotta go. I see that eight-year-old digging into the cooler in search of his second Rock Star.

A gathering of writers and freaky snow

Friends and fellow writers, Doug Walker and his wife Anne, were in Durango for Memorial Day Weekend--visiting from New Zealand (and thinking that it's summer here). We planned to have a picnic by the River of Lost Souls, but it was SNOWING. So everyone snuggled into my place--a kind of treehouse apartment--cozy. Anway, we huddled around the fireplace drinking wine, eating homemade elk sausage, trading stories about politics, travel and writing. Doug is writing childrens' books on a grant he got from the New Zealand government. Apparently, artists are well supported there. Blake Crouch, known for his scare-the-heart-out-of you thrillers, brought blow-your-mind dip. Blake's new novel, Snowbound, comes out next year; also his incredible thriller set in a local ghost town, Abandon, will be coming out--get ready to keep the light on. Terry Junttonen, a wonderful short story writer and poet, brought lemon meringue pie and cookies; Haz Said, beekeeper and poet provided a small vat of mustard potato salad; Shannon Richardson, author, screenwriter and director/producer of horror movies, attempted to keep us healthy with green salad. But I destroyed that attempt by pulling out a bucket of Rocky Mountain Chocolate that I got at their "bloomers" sale. It was quite the literary picnic. Next time in New Zealand, where it's warmer!

Am I writing this story or is it writing me?

Life is like a spiral staircase. Situations circle round and round, but every time I reach a new level my perspective changes. The landscape hasn't changed, really, but I see things differently. Writing a story is like that. If I allow it, if I don't direct it, the story unfolds, simply emerges. Does that sound Zen? Life is like that too. Holes in the fabric of my busyness allow light to shine through. What are holes? The absense of something. The container of nothing. But can nothing be contained?

Ghost Plane

Hi,

Welcome to my new blog: Ghost Plane.
It's about a creepy story I wrote when I was working at the Durango airport at night. It's dark out there on the tarmac and kind of freaky cleaning planes with no one around.

Anyway, CrimeSpree Magazine is publishing my short story in their 24th Anniversary edition which is what has motivated me to start this blog. Check it out...and if you have any weird stories to share or if you've had any strange experiences at an airport, let me know.

Bye for now,
Suzanne