November 2005 Archives

breathe steam on the window and draw you a heart. I don't want to change these filthy sheets, because I get into bed alone and they still smell like you, and it's worth the dirt. fingers smudged with ink unwritten fantasies that already came true, tragedy on the sidewalk and a loft apartment waiting for me to rollerskate in. hours at work spent wondering waking moments spent sleeping dreaming away the morning of all the things I don't want to be. all this for a glass that slips through my fingers and breaks poetically on the barroom floor in slow motion, slips shatters sideways shards crunching under the soles of my boots.

torn between better and best.

an accompaniment now for these everyday things, where there's no glamour to be had, and you stand there and love the way I tie my shoes, and I watch you sleeping. three thousand miles beckons, cinnamon strains on new year's eve, floating through patches of open door: letting out the music, letting in the cold. I've done too much and said too much but there's still so much more left to go.

shelf mattress pillowtops old paintings

let's do things and see things and wish against the odds to wherever it all takes us. brilliant shining moments, words we refuse to say, hands on hearts and mouths on fire. desperate searching kissing, tangled limbs, reeling. carry-ons, death and all the things before now that didn't quite work out. shaved head shocking reds whispers in the hallways, smiles when you greet me, and I want it all to go away. shatter the eggshells and hit the floor screaming, stop pretending. paragraphs and broken lines and the nape of my neck under the thumb of your left hand, all softness and urgency.

*********

I was all prepared to write some commentary, some update on my life, and then my writers block decided to leave me, and I had to listen to it. there's a strangeness now to the ends of my fingertips, and I'm ready to throw on certain cds and get lost and have the words follow me around for days.

so with the deadline looming, I haven't written a book, but I've written twenty five thousand words or so. which is more than I've ever done for one piece, on purpose, and it's actually got some good moments in it. like when I step outside the shell of who I used to be in the patch of sunlight on the driveway, bare feet on warm pavement. I tried to write a book, I wrote part of a book, and well, the thing is, I got a little distracted. for the good.

and maybe the myth is true, that the tragedies and the passions (good and bad) are the things that fill the margins of my notebook, that make me go running for the pen, holed up in this back office for hours, ignoring phone calls and incoming faxes. I went to a meeting last night and I didn't want to be me. even though me consists of so many wonderful things. but I didn't want to be "that girl": the one that has a hard time with the holidays because her dad's dead and her mom has cancer. the one that can't stop spending money she doesn't have, the one that's twenty nine and divorced with nothing to show for it but a one-room flat and some empty cat food cans.

and in writing this, I'm realizing that those things aren't the whole of who I am. those things are happening, but - I'm stronger for them. and I have a one-room flat and no belongings because I got rid of a bunch of stuff that didn't suit me anymore. and I'm spending too much, but the financial insecurities that plagued me forever are long gone. and I love my cat, and my divorce taught me a lot about relationships, and I've never been healthier or more sane than I am right now, at this very moment.

my chipped dark red nail polish feels oh-so punk rock. I kind of like it. I used to need it. but not any more.

I guess the part I hate the most is the eggshell part. where people are trying to care and be compassionate, and doing the best they know how, but - you get treated like you're different. well, you know, victoria, she's having a hard time - when you're sitting there and you want everyone to care about you but at the same time you just want people to treat you like you're alright. I'd rather have this than be alone, but still. it's frustrating, and I don't handle it very well. it makes me cry more sometimes.

and to round it all out, there's a Boy. that's right. with a big B. the same one, the tent progression, a month now passed since the first real "date" - and before you laugh and throw things, I only know that because the day afterwards was my friend lesley's wedding. so I like, remembered the date and stuff. there's been a nice calm natural progression of things, a few weekends in bed, lots of talking, and sometimes on sunday mornings we read the paper together and the silence isn't weird. I'm cautiously optimistic, and wondering what the hell I was doing with all these other guys this whole time - I'm not trying to get ahead of myself in any way, but it just feels like this is what it's supposed to feel like.

and to keep this fit for public consumption, I'm going to wrap it up. time to attempt a little bit of something vaguely related to work.

or maybe I'll be back in ten minutes.

:*

~vvb

thanks to john and cheryl for the crazy ass shout outs!

now go pledge!

http://www.kexp.org

it's only the greatest radio station, like, ever.

~vvb

it's all about checking up.

I'm at 20,963 words. I've been told to get out of the 20's as soon as my fingers can take me.

My eyeballs are going to fall out of my head I think -

~vvb

11:45 am.

18,740.

good thing I don't have to like, work all the time. when I'm, you know, working.

~vvb

do you know where your novel is?

mine's at 16,823 words and counting. not bad for still being at work.

~vvb

tonight, 91 north was just closed. just like that. you turned a corner, and a bunch of cop cars in the middle of the road made you veer off to this connector thing by the mall exit. apparently the berlin turnpike (affectionately known as the "shunpike") connects to route 9, which when taken south gets you back to 91. and it isn't even a huge hassle. just in case you ever, you know, are like, driving on the highway and they like, close it or something.

I got to the iron horse the song before andrew bird took the stage. usually the doors are at 7, the opener is at 8, and the headliner is at 9. andrew went on at about 8:20, and by 10 I was in the car calling kristin. short set, but good nonetheless. the place was almost as packed as it was for the mountain goats. I didn't really get to take any pictures, and hated the people sitting at tables in the front snapping away.

he talked more this time, he was much more tangible. except he'd say how a song was about the end of the world from your armchair or an unhealthy obsession with calcium in the 8th grade. but he talked. last time I saw him, for the first time, at the space with kristin, in like, another lifetime it seems, he just completely checked out. something behind his eyes went away. and tonight, he still checked out, but came back for a few moments every few songs and said funny random things.

there was a girl standing in front of us, pretty much stinking drunk, dancing around and invoking riots of shushed giggles from the four or five of us standing behind her. I wanted to buy her shots of tequila and take bets. and on top of being disruptive, she took the setlist.

douchebag. I got a poster. so there.

that's my random informational late night post. it's also worthy to note that once I hit the great state of mass there was a station, 91.5, that rocked sondre lerche back-to-back with the magic numbers. interestingly enough, when I came out and turned the car back on after the show, it was that really, really bad dirt-rock track: I'm... sailing ay-way... so bad. curious, but bad. I'm still sleeping a lot. but now I'm having lots and lots of sex, so somewhere it all works itself out. even sleeping through the jeff tweedy show last night by accident.

on another note, I wouldn't suggest wearing new stiff knee-high docs to a show where you potentially have to stand for over an hour. owie.

kristin, go write. even if it's a thousand words on the perfect ham sandwich. have one of your characters cook so you can put in a recipe or something. dream sequence. donations to ill-chosen charities. shit, I'm writing a book about a girl who wants to write a book someday. I love you. I have no idea what happens after chicago. I'm going to assess things at the post office tomorrow. because anything can be solved by the right progression of power chords and a few well-placed fake accents.

~vvb

it is, in fact, a dark and stormy night.

nano check in: 12,218 words so far. that's 2500 just tonight. I think we're on our way to chicago. john roderick and I are the dearest of friends. the plot took a little twist and he's in love with a girl back home who lives on a technicolor houseboat that looks like a little cake, she rides her bike past the window of the place he gets coffee at every morning. he's filled up notebooks about her.

I don't know what's going to happen in chicago though. I guess I'll just get us to the airport and see what comes out. hari krishnas, maybe a call from kevin? he and john are tight, you know. at least when I'm doing the typing.

oh, I forgot to mention that. bell orchestre last night: one of the songs was the violinist chick, the stand up bass / cello thing guy, and the drummer. on an electric typewriter. it was gorgeous.

:*

~vvb

seriously. as kristin puts it, I get out of bed in the morning because of guilt. and were there no guilt, or job, or cat to feed, I'd sleep for eighteen hours at a clip. then I'd get up, probably eat something, change the cds, and go back to sleep. I can't manage to get to work before 10. it's getting ridiculous.

I don't like the way my bangs look today. I tried on my engagement and wedding ring last night and was immediately struck with the desire to drive a fancy car, throw away all my comfy clothes, and never pen another word.

I've stalled out on my book, but I think tonight is going to be catch-up night. I'll just hit the noon meeting tomorrow.

eve was here for days, and left abruptly. as much as we've had our little tiffs here and there, I've yet to find such a sidekick in new haven. donna says we're lucky if we find those few people in our life we really, really love, and she's one of them. except she's fifteen hundred miles away.

I wonder how much I've upped my word count by spelling numbers out.

sing me spanish techno...

oh, and I spent a whole bunch of money since thursday. like, three hundred dollars or something. on pedicures and electric razors and birth control and shoes I didn't need and a sweater that already ripped. but it was fun. if I can get someone on craigslist to buy my ovation, I'll even right back out.

so that's everything that's been rattling around in my head. that, and the fact that peanut butter should be illegal, or at least administered by a professional.

on top of all of this, I've met a boy. remember the guy from the tent? right. I think we're like, dating or something. I'm going to write him into my book, stumbling across him in a gas station or train station or something. I'll have known him from high school, we'll sigh about the good old days... I asked him what he wanted to be, and I think we settled on a major league baseball player with a shining broadway career. these are things he likes in real life. that, and holding my hand. the first time that happened we were walking out of a movie theather, and I went into shock, and said, "if you like, bumped into me by accident and want to let go, you can -" as only I can deliver.

right. he didn't let go. I'll keep you posted.

there's also been a plethora of mindbending music, which I'll abbreviatedly review kd style... I've already told you all about the frames and the wrens and tom's visit, the second of which in northampton is fully illustrated in the green room shots.

okay, I just had to check my blog to see what shows I was at. it's all starting to blur.

the prayers & tears of arthur digby sellers opening for the mountain goats: this was the wednesday before halloween I believe, at the iron horse. I love the mountain goats and all, but after getting to dig on the whole prayers & tears album I was really looking forward to a full set. cue the nice guys turned flipped-switch freaking out lead singer indie rockers with a xylophone and lots to talk about post-show. I bought a ticket to the knitting factory on halloween but was too shot to attend. but still - the album is an immediate need of yours, even if you don't know it yet. brilliant. someone needs to give these boys lots of money, or at least some crazy studio time so that they can just create. but seeing as they are the product of their current enviroments, maybe they just need to keep doing what they're doing. still. if you know jon, it's like that. here's like, ten thousand dollars. go play. you know what I mean. and then, the mountain goats, screaming and fabulous, except for the drunk people who didn't really deal well with the shushing they kept getting. photoessay to follow...

the cloud room: this was the wednesday after halloween, at the knitting factory, and I made it to the show. j is still one of the sexiest band boys in america, jon and terri are still ridiculously sweet, and the set kicked ass. twenty people on stage dancing during "hey now now", some fun schwag that I hadn't gotten my hands on yet, and two new songs - one new from last time that I remembered, and one new new one. full frontal indie pop fabulousness, as usual. I still wish they had a nice long headlining set, but still. thirty minutes is better than nothing. to top it off, the band before them - snowden - was insanely good. I still haven't listened to the album yet, so I don't know if it's a keeper or not, but live is confirmed. run, don't walk. really.

clogs and bell orchestre: (say, bell or KEST. not bell OR kestra, or bell or KEST ra. it's just bell or KEST. as bryce corrected padma during the clogs set. that's right, bitches. or KEST.) by far the most interesting show I've seen in quite some time. take those same full frontal indie rock boys and girls, give them some strings and some horns, and put them in a multi-thousand dollar studio slash performance space. the room seated seventy five, I was front right, and could have kicked various things from my seat - the stage area was about 1 1/2 times the size of kristin's old seattle apartment, and the seating area was about two or three times that size. everything on top of everything. gorgeous and melodic and inspiring and commanding and 99% instrumental. once clogs finished, bell orchestre took over, about ten times as loud, and just as amazing if not more so. both sets were fantastic, but clogs had that national feeling kind of thing with bryce on guitar, while bell orchestre ripped out some crazy drums (think the loud parts of the arcade fire album) and clapped and had trumpets and stuff. I sat in that little room with my mouth open and my camera out, waiting to shoot until it was loud enough for no one to notice. and to top it all off, when the gig was over, I got into my car and drove from crown street to whitney avenue (that's about eight minutes across new haven with lights and stuff, for the out-of-towners) and fell into bed.

I'm deliriously happy, poor, and tired... but there's more shows and photos coming up, and I've got some great shoes. so it all evens out. and on top of that, there's a boy who thinks about me at various points throughout the day and calls sometimes.

and super fuzzy power naps for all,

~vvb

PS! I've finally gotten the court papers to get my name back, and I'm going to social security in the morning. we're going to have to throw a name restoration party or something. more to follow.

just in case you missed it last time:

yes, that's me, and greg and charles from the wrens.

no, I'm not kidding.

~vvb

9,545 words as of monday at 3:15 pm.

only 40,455 more to go!

right.

~vvb

8,839 words so far. only 41,161 more to go.

I was going to kick it here (at the office) until about 7 or so, when I leave to go see the cloud room. but I'm just realizing I don't have my map or my camera, so it's back to new haven real quick.

storyline update - I'm sitting on the floor of a hotel room with john roderick. I still don't know it's him. the drummer's girlfriend, jenny, is about to hand me a glass of wine. she's already kind of buzzed and she kissed me on the veranda. well, it was a balcony off of a suite at the clarion in northampton, but still.

my sweet untouched miranda - it just sounds better than balcony.

I managed to sneak in a reference to a song off of "ultimatum" and there's groupies camped out in the hallway.

thanks, kristin. I wouldn't be doing this without you.

:*

~vvb

mid day report, day two:

7,175 words.

that's right, bitches.

seven thousand one hundred and seventy five.

~vvb

5,700+ words and counting (the nano site is a little slow and I'm getting impatient, so no exact word count, but I know I broke 5,700).

that's a lot of words for a girl with nothing to say.

in nanoland, I'm on tour with tom brosseau, in northampton, and I've just met john roderick - but I don't know it yet.

this fiction business is a fucking blast. I think some of my ex lovers are going to have crippling venereal diseases while I get laid. a lot. by some super hot band boys. and they're going to call the next day. and like, love me. and stuff.

~vvb

on the heels of this morning's phone call, from seattle at 7 am, with kristin about to get on her scooter in the rain to go start her book... while I rolled out from warm sheets at 8:30, late for work again, sort of remembering and feeling bad about it, and pretty much deciding that there's no way I can write a whole novel.

"but you can write two thousand words, can't you?"

THE MONTH-LONG NOVELIST AGREEMENT AND STATEMENT OF UNDERSTANDING:

I hereby pledge my intent to write a 50,000 word novel in one month's time. By invoking an absurd, month-long deadline on such an enormous undertaking, I understand that notions of "craft," "brilliance," and "competency" are to be chucked right out the window, where they will remain, ignored until they are retrieved for the editing process. I understand that I am a talented person, capable of heroic acts of creativity, and I will give myself enough time over the course of the next month to allow my innate gifts to come to the surface, unmolested by self doubt, self criticism, and other acts of self bullying.

During the month ahead, I realize I will produce clunky dialogue, cliched characters, and deeply flawed plots. I agree that all of these things will be left in my rough draft, to be corrected and / or excised at a later point. I understand my right to withhold my manuscript from all readers until I deem it completed. I also acknowledge my right as author to substantially inflate both the quality of the rough draft and the rigors of the writing process should such inflation prove useful in garnering me respect and attention, or freedom from participation in onerous household chores.

I acknowledge that the month-long, 50,000-word deadline I set for myself is absolute and unchangeable, and that any failure to meet the deadline, or any effort on my part to move the deadline once the adventure had begun, will invite well-deserved mockery from friends and family. I also acknowledge that, upon successful completion of the stated noveling objective, I am entitled to a period of gleeful celebration and revelry, the duration and intensity of which my preclude me from participating fully in workplace activities for days, if not weeks, afterward.

SIGNED: the ever-procrastinating vvb
NOVEL START DATE: November 1, 2005
NOVEL DEADLINE: November 30, 2005

two thousand words, one day at a time, and somehow I've been twelve-stepped into becoming a novelist.

brilliant.