Lavinia Thompson's Blog: Seeking reviewers! , page 20

Poem ~ Coffee Clouds ~

Sitting down in the old coffee shop

like we always used to;

something about the way

we could talk for hours,

secrets swirling in coffee clouds,

latte foam stirred around.

Life changes;

so did we.

Words don’t come

as easily as they did then.

Marriage, babies, bills,

jobs, relocations,

there’s something about growing up

spills nostalgia like old coffee

across pages of an unfinished novel,

things we can’t get back,

words not remembered,

memories faded like photographs,

black and white not so clear;

smudges to grey.

I guess wishing for the feeling again

is naive; everything changes.

You’re two kids into a marriage

following his job around.

I’m still drifting, though he and I are

like “Me and Bobby McGee”

without letting him slip away.

Miles, highway lines, wild roses,

moonlit harbours, stretching prairie,

finding a place to land

some day.

Pink flowers
Lavinia Thompson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smoking too much,

drinking too much coffee,

guess it’s all we have left in common

besides wafts of coffee through

our kitchens. I miss late nights

watching the sun come up,

fresh coffee after an all-nighter.

There never is much better.

Something about growing up

makes friends drift apart

and something about drifting apart

makes you grow up a little more,

makes you let go a bit sooner,

leaves nostalgia in coffee clouds,

Latte foam stirred around.

Life changes;

so did we.

“Coffee Clouds” will be featured in my upcoming poetry book, “Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged: Memoirs of a Small Town Girl” to be released in summer 2012.

Cover for “Memoirs of a Small Town Girl”

~Poem~ Between Here and There

Restlessness

consumes

a gypsy soul.

One week since being fired;

thought it was the dream job

in the dream small town.

Lately I haven’t been sure

just what the dream is.

Summer of transience;

thinking it’s just what I need.

Set this vagabond heart free

out in the unknown.

Tried settling for a season

but the spirit flees.

There’s a list

hidden in pages

of a book I wrote;

every little thing

I want to do

between here and there.

Free-spirited just like when

at her wedding

I kicked off my high heels

danced barefooted with him…

Summer came and went;

nothing in a fairy tale lasts.

Never really gave up on

finding  something out there

but the more I am in the world

the more I think

maybe it’s not about

how far you can go.

Maybe it’s roots.

Maybe it’s where

everything you have known

still lingers.

Maybe it’s home

that settles a soul after all.

Desert flowers
Lavinia Thompson
2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Between Here and There will be featured in my upcoming poetry book, Memoirs of a Small Town Girl, to be released in summer 2012.

Memoirs of a Small Town Girl cover
Lavinia Thompson
to be released summer 2012

Writers beware!!

There is a new predator lurking in the depths of the vast publishing world, just waiting for naive writers to take the bait and then they get screwed. I mean hardcore.

The publisher is Undead Press though I have feeling the company will soon be dead…

The first writer I read about in this disaster was Mandy DeGeit, who submitted her work to UnDead Press and didn’t get to review the edits, only to be horrified when she found there had been many unauthorized changes to her story. Not just spelling and grammar; but plot line, character, and so on. Her story can be read on her blog: http://mandydegeit.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/when-publishing-goes-wrong-starring-undead-press/#comment-308

Alyn Day is the second writer who has publicly voiced her issues with Undead Press. http://alyndayofthedead.blogspot.ca/2012/05/suffering-in-silence.html?showComment=1337113059875#c49630530389707814 

Read these stories. Keep them in your head if you ever go searching for a publisher, because there is a lesson to be learned here. Before you ever submit even a word to any publisher, research some background information on them. Talk to fellow writers and get them to discuss their experiences with the publisher in which you are interested. Also talk to the publisher themselves, to gauge their professionalism. Stay away from any publisher you get bad reviews about and any publisher you get a negative vibe from.

This hit close to home because last year I had my own publisher horror story. I signed a contract with Hellfire Publishing for my fantasy novel, Spellbound by Fire, after being rejected four times. I was excited and naive. It wasn’t until six to eight months later, after the cover art didn’t match my story, my release was delayed, editing wasn’t even done and communication with the publisher was nearly impossible that I began to realize what I got myself into.

I did some research. I found some negative reviews from both writers and readers about the quality of the books Hellfire was publishing. One reader commented they would “never buy a book from this company.” Even other writers I talked to said they had waited up to two years to get something as short as a 25,000 word novella published, who also voiced their dissatisfaction with Hellfire.

I consider myself lucky because unlike other writers, I managed to slip out of my contract before my book went to print. I hear stories of others who go through battles lasting up to a year to get rights back to their work.

There are good publishers out there. I have talked to some of these delightful publishers. So don’t give up if you are determined to go the traditional publishing route. Do your homework, do your research and choose wisely.

Preditors and Editors is a great website to start that research:

http://pred-ed.com/

As is this one:

http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/

 

 

 

 

What a week…

The landlord tried to evict us. Family drama at home spilled over my way this week. My driver’s license expired. And I got fired.

That’s the story of my week. You know, the more I am out on the West Coast the more it just never works…maybe I’m just not meant to be out here? Or maybe it’s a sign that I should be focussing on my books…I was getting strange vibes about a week or so ago something was going to happen. I was restless. And now here I am- unemployed again.

But it’s OK. I think my books should have been first priority all along. So hubby and I have come up with a nice little plan. Seems as journalism never goes my way, we are going to go fruit picking for the summer and then back home to open a bookstore. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do and it will give me a chance to write as well. And it’ll be something I have never done.

In some ways I am relieved about my job. I am looking forward to spending this summer just working and writing, and going on some adventures. Small towns have never really been my thing.

But enough about that. I have also been working on book covers. “Wildflowers, Scattered Estranged” and “Travis” have different covers as I have just been playing with fonts and arrangements.

Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged: Memoirs of a Small Town Girl
2012
Lavinia Thompson

New cover for Travis
2012
Lavinia Thompson

~ Poem ~ Friday Blues (Nothing Better to do)

Mornings like this

I could crawl back into bed

just to be near your skin;

warmth,

crawl back under blankets

because I know that’s where you are.

Today is Friday and I’m not sure

where I need to be.

Feeling strangely poetic, nostalgic

but nothing solid

is in the imagination;

somewhere between heavy metal

and delicate poetry.

Today is Friday and I’ve not sure

who I am.

Late night sex, cigar smoke in the dark,

candle light and skin on skin,

moonlight through a window,

all so cliche but there it is;

that’s you and me,

a little rough under covers.

Wishing right now was still

late last night.

Today is Friday and the only thing

for sure is you.

It’s a scene, it goes by

in the blink of eye;

it’s gone.

Awaken to morning light

streaming lightly through windows

tapping bare shoulders as a reminder

it’s time to wake up, got work to do

but I’d much rather lie here with you.

Today is Friday and I’m wishing

there was nothing better to do.

Update ~ Birthday, dreams and life… ~

So it’s my birthday. And I’ve been thinking. Thinking too much, you could say, which could be why it’s been far too long since I updated my blog.

I’ve been going through the continuous motions lately of growing up. It’s that never-ending cycle. Working, paying bills, responsibilities and commitments, trying to find time for my books and the beach, smoking too much and drinking too much coffee, as always…

I turn 23 today; still somewhere between crazy little gypsy girl and matured woman. It’s such an odd age, 23. What do you do with that? Such thought has been nudging my nomadic thoughts for the past few weeks.

I love my job. I love the West Coast. I love looking out my window to the sun setting gracefully over glittering waves. I like being on my own, making my own decisions, being independent. I just find it funny how people yearn for independence and yet it can be such a scary thing. It’s a leap from a ledge of comfort into this crazy unknown oblivion and you have no idea what’s out there.

Ocean
2012
Lavinia Thompson

So as with every year when I get another year into adulthood, I see the things I haven’t done yet passing me by, a list that just gets longer with time. It’s a list I want to start shortening. So here it goes. Writing goals, dreams and things I want to do, broken down into little things to do first and then the bigger things I want to do…

Dream List 2012

-          Finish the Spellbound sequel

-          Release my next poetry book

-          Hold this job for a year at least and try to move up in the world.

-          Try roller derby

-          Renovate my house…something crazy, unique, special…something me…

-          Go on a road trip or two, to somewhere I have never been!

-          Get my fishing licence; catch my own crab and fish.

-          Go on a stargazing date.

-          Try dog training.

-          Start enjoying the beauty of little things.

-          Get a tattoo?

-          Continue to be an advocate against domestic violence.

-          Get a print version of “She Wasn’t Allowed to Giggle” released.

-          Get print copies of Spellbound in local book stores.

I’ve been thinking that the only possible way to accomplish every thing you want to do in your life is to do in little bits. Start small, go big. Next year, for example, I want to go to England, do more family research and tour the country where my ancestors are from. Just one dream among many.

And that’s just the beginning…but it’s where I’m starting.

~ Lady Antebellum ~ We Owned the Night ~

Poem ~ Own the Night ~

Restless as a wildflower

ready to bloom.

Sweet, sweet summertime

carry me away

to places never been.

List of things I’ve never done

always getting longer.

Like a wildflower
Ottawa, Ont.
2010
Photo by Lavinia Thompson

Coffee on a spring morning

recalling nights far away

when nothing mattered;

no responsibility,

no commitments,

before we grew up.

Sometimes want to go back

to days of beauty,

glory in our own clueless innocent ways.

I live for those memories

that maybe one day

I’ll live them again.

When summer comes around,

sun sinks down on every day

when in a moment

something more means

something so much more

when owning the night

tugs at gypsy heartstrings

keep on saying ‘someday’

someday I will do everything…

some day

I will live for living again.

Copyright 2012 Lavinia Thompson

Poem to be featured in my upcoming collection “Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged: Memoirs of a Small Town Girl” to be released summer 2012.

Fireworks in Ottawa
Canada Day 2010
Photo by Lavinia Thompson

Poem ~ Not a Freak (Holes at my Knees) ~

So what do you do with life

besides dream and dream,

eventually never find a thing?

Screaming “I’ve had enough,

I just want be free from words;

the knives in my back.

From hatred; just love me for who I am.”

Strands and images hang loose from fingers;

things hard to let go of.

Standing on a crowded street

in ripped-up jeans, John Lennon t-shirt,

secondhand leather jacket.

This is who I am.

So you can ridicule me;

I am not a freak.

I will live and die by the freedom

of the gypsy spirit reveling in me,

drifting around the wind

where thrift store junkies,

Goths and vagabonds

are spat on by vicious queens,

stomped on by self-centered-kings.

You will never take my life

no matter the residue of pain,

stains on hands, stains on jeans.

But I will die free as holes at my knees.

When will those girls learn

lipstick cases and brand names

only get you into a false scene?

It’s not all about having every

strand of hair in place

or losing virginity at 15

or spitting vicious words

at the girl in secondhand clothes

from a single parent family.

She is not a freak.

I am through with being told

what kind of girl to be

so keep your stupid beauty magazines;

hip hop, pop rock, your starving models.

I am my own, I am as free

as secondhand clothes, long hair

and old time rock and roll.

I have watched tired eyes lose life;

stood before his coffin in December

knowing how in spite of the way

those kids hurt him he always had a smile.

And yet those years end;

that reflection vanishes to nothing.

Cool becomes immaterial,

becomes a string of memories.

Looking back one day you realize

we were all freaks.

You were just faker than the rest.

I was free all along;whether you can love me or not.

And I will die

free as the holes at my knees.

Copyright 2009 Lavinia Thompson

This poem will be featured in my upcoming poetry book, “Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged: Memoirs of a Small Town Girl” to be released in 2012.

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Mask of a thousand falsities.
Photo by Lavinia Thompson

Some days

Some days you just want to quit at life as a whole.

Some days all you do for everyone else just isn’t enough

Some days you’re just tired of people and want to hide away from the world.

Some days I just can’t do anything right for anybody.

Some days you’re just through with the world. But something keeps you hanging on.

Some days you’re just tired of talking. Tired of arguing, defending yourself, and talked down to like everything is a mistake.

Some days when you could walk out to the ocean and just stand there. engulfed by it’s enormousness and insensitivity and grace.

Some days you cry for no reason.

Some days your dreams are so much bigger than your willpower and hope.

Some days you could just throw your hands up and walk away from it all.

But only some days. Other days are brighter. More hopeful. More light.

Some days are like the first step into the darkened tunnel.

Then there are some days when it feels like the tunnel will never end; forever engulfed in obscurity and darkness.

Some days are the light at the end of the tunnel.

~ Just a girl ~

There’s an hour left in the work day on Thursday afternoon. The other girls in the office are gossiping and discussing how to plan a wedding in four months. I don’t even want to think about the fact I have to plan mine within two months.

There’s still lots to do- articles to write, a few phone calls to make, emails to send, information to gather. That’s what my life is. Gathering information. Accuracy. Confirmation. Too much coffee. Too much struggle and sometimes not enough. Telling people what they want to know whether they know or not.

My journalism instructor once said a year or two at a community newspaper is the best experience any reporter can get; the basic foundation for a journalist’s future. It’s a lot of writing about local events, photos of school events, school board meetings and town council meetings. It’s certainly much better than other jobs I could be doing. I could go back to cleaning hotel rooms but that would be counter productive for the future I want.

Yet I tend to be the kind of girl who doesn’t know what she wants. I want to be a crime journalist. Small town reporting is tough mainly because it is boring and there have been several times I have second guessed my career decision because of it, but just a year. That’s what I tell myself. Just a year and I can go somewhere with bigger stories, more people, more interesting things.

Most and foremost, I want to be a full-time author. I would love to stay at home, be nocturnal, write my books, drink lots of coffee and market my books. Any writer will tell you that’s the ultimate dream. Maybe some are more serious about it than others. It’s hard to say.

I tend to lose a bit more of myself every time I venture into the world, away from the warmth of home, the scent of coffee permeating through the familiar house where my mother still lives, the arrogant noise of mother vacuuming first thing in the morning because she dislikes it when people sleep in all the time. The dogs barking and running rampant. Cats knocking things over and chasing each other. A different kind of peace one only finds in that familiarity of home.

Mothers are that special charm
Photo by Lavinia Thompson

I have found struggles eat away at the soul. The more patches you sew onto the ripped pieces, the more wear and tear becomes apparent. Colours and fabrics don’t quite match up; they’re not so familiar anymore. It’s like the old blanket lying around for so many years. With every patch Mother sews onto it, it becomes less familiar, less like what I have known for all these years. That’s how I feel about myself sometimes. Unfamiliar. Lost. Wondering what I am doing, where I am going, always second-guessing myself and wondering if I could always do better than what I’ve got. The only time I feel 100 per cent myself is when I write my books or when I write anything really. Like this. As the words flow from somewhere deep inside, I feel like the me I have always been, the person that has changed so much but not at all. The girl who doesn’t know what she wants but knows exactly what she wants to do. She is just a girl who wants to write her books.

Life isn’t so simple though. There is a job to go to; bills and rent to pay, food to keep in the fridge; responsibilities and obligations and people to satisfy. A house to buy, move into and renovate. A wedding to plan within two months.

To walk in the door to conclude every work day poses an old question. Who am I? What do I do now? As if every day is a crossroads. It doesn’t matter the job. It’s always the same no matter how much it changes. To talk to so many people in a day and still go home as just one little person, still unsure, wondering…do I make a difference at all or am I just another faceless name, drowning?

You can be happy but you’re never content. Mother’s advice from a few years back seems to keep running through my head these days. Today, I’m not sure which I am.

I could blame it on not having a dog. There was always something special about those brown eyes looking back at me, tail wagging excitedly when I came home every day. Barking from all three dogs greeting the vehicle as it pulled into the drive. Happy faces at the window. You’re home! Food? How was your day?! We missed you! I miss that more than I ever thought I would.

It could be restlessness. Every spring it stirs from the depths of the soul and wants to run wildly down the highway to somewhere I’ve never been. Another town. Another faceless place. Another way. Another job. Another life. But you can only have so many lives, so many masks…you’ll never find yourself that way.

It could be the distance from home. As a lyric from Terri Clark’s song “Midnight’s Gone” goes.. “All I have to do is drive away but the things that make me crazy always make me stay.” And yet once I am there I am unhappy. To know that my life belongs elsewhere. Or maybe it belongs nowhere at all.

But there’s always something. I don’t know yet exactly what I want. I want to write. I would love to have a dog rescue shelter. I would love to own and run a book store. I want to be a hardcore crime journalist in a big city one day. I guess time will tell what is meant to happen. As another lyric says…

“With all these dreams I can’t believe I’m still standing here.”

Standing still and yet it all changes so fast.

And I’m just a girl who just wants to write her books.

Terri Clark “Midnight’s Gone”