C.B. Calsing's Blog, page 31
August 18, 2011
Parrots
When I first bought my house, I took a picture of the front. On later inspection, I saw perched on one of the wires -- phone or cable -- a green bird. I treated it like some sort of cryptozoological study. I had a jeweler's loop out in moments, saw it was some sort of parakeet or maybe a lovebird. I assumed at the time that someone's pet had become free.
Later I learned that New Orleans has a population of parrots. My bird book suggests they are monk parrots, a feral population established from escaped pets.
For the last decade, I've treated my occasional sightings of them with joy and wonder. I would see them in palm trees, hear them as they perched on wires or squabbled in the neighbor's magnolia tree. Most of the time, I saw them up around Elysian Fields, near UNO, in the palms that lined the median, bright flashes of green midst the dark foliage.
This year, though, it seems a population has finally made the permanent move into the Bywater. I see and hear them everyday now. I love it. It makes me feel as if I'm truly in a tropical setting. I munch on my pina colada snow ball and watch them dance on the power lines and try to invade the purple martin nesting boxes. They eat dates from a laden tree. Their shrieking -- not as articulate or ensnaring as a trained macaw's -- fills the air.
I know I shouldn't enjoy invasive species, but could something so cute and comical really deserve my rancor? I'll save it for the starlings.
Later I learned that New Orleans has a population of parrots. My bird book suggests they are monk parrots, a feral population established from escaped pets.
For the last decade, I've treated my occasional sightings of them with joy and wonder. I would see them in palm trees, hear them as they perched on wires or squabbled in the neighbor's magnolia tree. Most of the time, I saw them up around Elysian Fields, near UNO, in the palms that lined the median, bright flashes of green midst the dark foliage.
This year, though, it seems a population has finally made the permanent move into the Bywater. I see and hear them everyday now. I love it. It makes me feel as if I'm truly in a tropical setting. I munch on my pina colada snow ball and watch them dance on the power lines and try to invade the purple martin nesting boxes. They eat dates from a laden tree. Their shrieking -- not as articulate or ensnaring as a trained macaw's -- fills the air.
I know I shouldn't enjoy invasive species, but could something so cute and comical really deserve my rancor? I'll save it for the starlings.
August 7, 2011
Moving forward
I wrote a short story this week, which is great because I haven't written anything in a while. It's part of Magpie's story, and can be added to that book when I get back to working on it, but it stands alone. I just need to up the magical realism a smidge more before it's done.
Tomorrow is my first day back at work after a pretty good summer vacation. Coincidentally, I just started watching season four of The Wire, in which Pres has become a middle school math teacher in the Baltimore Public School System. Watching what he goes through reminds me a lot of my first two years in Orleans Parish. It's also making me nervous about my first day with kids in a couple of weeks. I spent the last three years with the same class of students, moving up with them, so it's weird having a new group.
I hope to get back to work on some longer writing soon. Hopefully finish Magpie one of these days. The second book is really the hardest, I think. It's taking me forever.
Tomorrow is my first day back at work after a pretty good summer vacation. Coincidentally, I just started watching season four of The Wire, in which Pres has become a middle school math teacher in the Baltimore Public School System. Watching what he goes through reminds me a lot of my first two years in Orleans Parish. It's also making me nervous about my first day with kids in a couple of weeks. I spent the last three years with the same class of students, moving up with them, so it's weird having a new group.
I hope to get back to work on some longer writing soon. Hopefully finish Magpie one of these days. The second book is really the hardest, I think. It's taking me forever.
July 27, 2011
I'm in Silverthorne, Colorado right now for a work trip. ...
I'm in Silverthorne, Colorado right now for a work trip. Going from about six feet below sea level yesterday to about ten thousand feet was a bit of a shock to my system. I could have probably gone to bed at about six thirty, but we had to do introductions and what not.
I had a dream last night that for some reason crying blood was a sign of altitude sickness. Of course, I was crying blood. It was not a nice dream.
The setting here is beautiful: rushing rivers, waterfalls, snow-capped mountains all viewable from the bus on the freeway here. I'm sleeping on a rollaway bed right under the hotel room window, and I opened the drapes this morning to golden sun streaming through silver clouds. The effect has finished, but it was nice while it lasted.
I had a dream last night that for some reason crying blood was a sign of altitude sickness. Of course, I was crying blood. It was not a nice dream.
The setting here is beautiful: rushing rivers, waterfalls, snow-capped mountains all viewable from the bus on the freeway here. I'm sleeping on a rollaway bed right under the hotel room window, and I opened the drapes this morning to golden sun streaming through silver clouds. The effect has finished, but it was nice while it lasted.
July 20, 2011
bitches gotta eat.: summer beauty tips for the gross and lazy.
bitches gotta eat.: summer beauty tips for the gross and lazy.: "this is my real sink. and i want you to know that because i'm so well-mannered and considerate i wiped down all of the toothpaste spots and..."
This is quite possibly the funniest beauty article I've ever read.
This is quite possibly the funniest beauty article I've ever read.
July 11, 2011
Haven't posted in a while
I've been busy, and it seems my summer is just slipping away from me. I had planned to revise Storm Summer and maybe finish Magpie, but neither of those things happened. I did go to the Gulf Coast twice and drink rum drinks. I did help build a fence and finally finish painting my bedroom. And I'll be in Colorado for a week coming up.
Still, I don't feel as if I wrote as much as I could have. I started a short story and didn't finish it, and more disappointing, a journal I was in closed and won't be publishing one of my short stories. In fact, I'm not really sure when I'll publish something new.
In the meantime, I'm writing a workshop on grant writing.
Still, I don't feel as if I wrote as much as I could have. I started a short story and didn't finish it, and more disappointing, a journal I was in closed and won't be publishing one of my short stories. In fact, I'm not really sure when I'll publish something new.
In the meantime, I'm writing a workshop on grant writing.
May 11, 2011
Our nation's capital
Our tour guide got in a fight -- it did not come to blows, but seemed close -- with a woman today because he directed our bus driver to park at a city bus stop. The lady was waiting for a ride, apparently -- though not for a bus -- and she took offense to the tour guide's attitude. There was much cursing and talking to the hand. I wanted to use this as some sort of metaphor for my trip here to Washington D.C., but my mind is too melty and has stopped functioning. I can think of nothing apt or apropos -- look, I'm even writing redundancies.
The gift shops are filled with trinkets made in China, for the most part, many of the same items you can buy in Pensacola Beach or on Bourbon Street, but emblazoned with D.C. instead of N.O. Another metaphor there for another time.
Tomorrow we get out of the city to visit Mount Vernon. I'm hoping for a bit more history and a bit less flash there, but we'll see.
The gift shops are filled with trinkets made in China, for the most part, many of the same items you can buy in Pensacola Beach or on Bourbon Street, but emblazoned with D.C. instead of N.O. Another metaphor there for another time.
Tomorrow we get out of the city to visit Mount Vernon. I'm hoping for a bit more history and a bit less flash there, but we'll see.
April 30, 2011
Spring Break
I listened to this book during my walks this spring break. I found it hilarious, sad, and motivational in turns. The audio book has its bright side -- in that Tina Fey actually narrates it. The book, I'm sure, would have its bright side -- in that the pictures she references are right there. I would definitely recommend this book to pretty much everyone. It's great to see inside her development as a performer and writer.
I'm sure people in my neighborhood think I'm crazy. Not only because I walk around with a dog tied to my waist -- it makes sense, believe me -- but because I've been laughing and crying aloud and completely ignoring them as I go by. I'm sure they can't see my uber chic iPod buds and the brilliant white wires, so they think I'm just rude. Or crazy.
Listening to this made me want to write comedy. I wrote one stand-up routine once, but never delivered it. Fey's background is in improv, which I loved in theater class growing up, but I feel more comfortable with the whole memorization thing. I've been thinking of a comedic novel, though. What would that look like coming from me? But then I look at the list of WIPs and sadly slink away from emulating Douglas Adams or Tom Robbins.
I'm sure people in my neighborhood think I'm crazy. Not only because I walk around with a dog tied to my waist -- it makes sense, believe me -- but because I've been laughing and crying aloud and completely ignoring them as I go by. I'm sure they can't see my uber chic iPod buds and the brilliant white wires, so they think I'm just rude. Or crazy.
Listening to this made me want to write comedy. I wrote one stand-up routine once, but never delivered it. Fey's background is in improv, which I loved in theater class growing up, but I feel more comfortable with the whole memorization thing. I've been thinking of a comedic novel, though. What would that look like coming from me? But then I look at the list of WIPs and sadly slink away from emulating Douglas Adams or Tom Robbins.
April 17, 2011
Roller Derby...Again
Last night I volunteered at the opening of the season for the Big Easy Roller Girls. Right this moment, I'm shopping for street wheels for my skates -- the ones I had custom made four years ago, the first time I wanted to do derby -- so I can start to get my chops back up before try-outs for "new meat" positions in the fall. There, I ordered them: purple wheels and cheap bearings so I don't ruin the good ones I already have on my skates.
Sacrifices will have to be made to make the practices and what not, but I think I'm finally ready to make it happen. I'll spend the summer working the bouts, learning the ropes, meeting the people I need to know, and skating all over the place. After that, maybe I'll be ready to try out. If not, well, I'll have fun getting to that point. Now to go dig up all my gear.
Sacrifices will have to be made to make the practices and what not, but I think I'm finally ready to make it happen. I'll spend the summer working the bouts, learning the ropes, meeting the people I need to know, and skating all over the place. After that, maybe I'll be ready to try out. If not, well, I'll have fun getting to that point. Now to go dig up all my gear.
April 9, 2011
Fairhope Revelations
I went to the creative writing teachers' conference in Fairhope, Alabama this weekend. This is always an interesting and sometimes nerve-racking experience. I often leave with a different perspective on what I'm doing with my life and how I'm getting there.
Fairhope is a beautiful town, almost Stepford perfect, which is why it was hilarious when I tripped and skinned my knee and both palms on its Stepford-perfect sidewalks after having a few drinks at the pub down the block. The irony being that I can come home from the corner bar, or all the way from Markey's even, managing the holes, dips, rises, and all the other inconsistencies of a New Orleans sidewalk, but I can't walk on a perfect sidewalk in a perfect town?
I guess that fall -- which was witnessed by a shop owner who told me "I do it all the time" -- is something of a metaphor for my entire weekend. How I can traipse along perfectly well in my own sort of damaged, psuedo-successful publishing world -- small press horror anthologies, ebook short stories, sci fi web zines -- and feel good about everything and like I'm doing fine. And then -- BAM! One hundred thousand dollar advances from Random House that other people are getting hit me in the face like the concrete sidewalk. I'm left bloody, sore, and -- worst of all -- embarrassed.
I was wearing flip-flops after all.
We'll make this something of a six things Saturday.
I have realized if I want to write a novel -- a real novel, not a collection of short stories like I already have, not a novella like the several I've churned out and sit on -- that I need to A. sell a novel to get an advance so I can work on another novel (something of a catch-22, since I can't get the first novel written). B. Win a grant to finish my first novel so I don't have to work while doing it. C. Get a part time job that pays enough so I have time and money to finish my novel. Short of working as an escort or exotic dancer, I don't think that job actually exists, so it's not an option. So instead I sit here, one of those English teachers who has "the great American novel" inside her but just can't find the time. Sheesh. Maybe this summer, right?
I should have spent more nights hobnobbing after workshops when I was in the MFA program. But I always had to get up the next morning at 5:30 to go to work, so it seemed an impossibility at the time. Now I realize I might not still have to be getting up at 5:30 every morning if I'd gone to network back then, so you see my problem. It's hard to make up for lost time when you only see those people once a year.
I hate palmetto bugs. I wish someone would pay me to write a chapbook rant about how much I hate them. I know that's a bit off topic, but I had to get it out there. Heck, I'm going to do it and put it on Smashwords. Maybe I'll work on it tomorrow. Would you pay ninety-nine cents for that? I wouldn't, because I hate palmetto bugs.
In my defense, genre fiction is a perfectly fine way to make enough money to buy groceries and pay car insurance while still working on "the great American novel." Really. It is. Did I hear you say, "But if you spent that time writing the novel, it would get done"? Maybe, or maybe I'd want to write about space pirates instead. I like space pirates. There's nothing wrong with space pirates. Really.
I'm pretty certain I can't actually write a novel. I've blamed it on my attention span, wanting to always move on to the next thing, but I think instead, once I get up to twenty or thirty thousand words, I start to doubt the worth of what I'm doing. I need to get over that.
Finally, I have the best friends, family, and fans. Y'all have given me opportunities and feedback that I am completely and utterly grateful for. I walk solid on broken sidewalks because of you.
Fairhope is a beautiful town, almost Stepford perfect, which is why it was hilarious when I tripped and skinned my knee and both palms on its Stepford-perfect sidewalks after having a few drinks at the pub down the block. The irony being that I can come home from the corner bar, or all the way from Markey's even, managing the holes, dips, rises, and all the other inconsistencies of a New Orleans sidewalk, but I can't walk on a perfect sidewalk in a perfect town?
I guess that fall -- which was witnessed by a shop owner who told me "I do it all the time" -- is something of a metaphor for my entire weekend. How I can traipse along perfectly well in my own sort of damaged, psuedo-successful publishing world -- small press horror anthologies, ebook short stories, sci fi web zines -- and feel good about everything and like I'm doing fine. And then -- BAM! One hundred thousand dollar advances from Random House that other people are getting hit me in the face like the concrete sidewalk. I'm left bloody, sore, and -- worst of all -- embarrassed.
I was wearing flip-flops after all.
We'll make this something of a six things Saturday.
I have realized if I want to write a novel -- a real novel, not a collection of short stories like I already have, not a novella like the several I've churned out and sit on -- that I need to A. sell a novel to get an advance so I can work on another novel (something of a catch-22, since I can't get the first novel written). B. Win a grant to finish my first novel so I don't have to work while doing it. C. Get a part time job that pays enough so I have time and money to finish my novel. Short of working as an escort or exotic dancer, I don't think that job actually exists, so it's not an option. So instead I sit here, one of those English teachers who has "the great American novel" inside her but just can't find the time. Sheesh. Maybe this summer, right?
I should have spent more nights hobnobbing after workshops when I was in the MFA program. But I always had to get up the next morning at 5:30 to go to work, so it seemed an impossibility at the time. Now I realize I might not still have to be getting up at 5:30 every morning if I'd gone to network back then, so you see my problem. It's hard to make up for lost time when you only see those people once a year.
I hate palmetto bugs. I wish someone would pay me to write a chapbook rant about how much I hate them. I know that's a bit off topic, but I had to get it out there. Heck, I'm going to do it and put it on Smashwords. Maybe I'll work on it tomorrow. Would you pay ninety-nine cents for that? I wouldn't, because I hate palmetto bugs.
In my defense, genre fiction is a perfectly fine way to make enough money to buy groceries and pay car insurance while still working on "the great American novel." Really. It is. Did I hear you say, "But if you spent that time writing the novel, it would get done"? Maybe, or maybe I'd want to write about space pirates instead. I like space pirates. There's nothing wrong with space pirates. Really.
I'm pretty certain I can't actually write a novel. I've blamed it on my attention span, wanting to always move on to the next thing, but I think instead, once I get up to twenty or thirty thousand words, I start to doubt the worth of what I'm doing. I need to get over that.
Finally, I have the best friends, family, and fans. Y'all have given me opportunities and feedback that I am completely and utterly grateful for. I walk solid on broken sidewalks because of you.
April 3, 2011
Walking
I've been walking the streets of my neighborhood quite a lot lately. Two or more miles each day essentially. I've seen something interesting things, like today in the dumpster behind Studio Inferno was an orange feather boa. I had to wonder how it got there and why someone would throw something so lovely away in the first place.
I also found twenty dollars today which, though not nearly as whimsical, is pretty damn awesome.
I also found twenty dollars today which, though not nearly as whimsical, is pretty damn awesome.
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