Megan Falley's Blog, page 16
January 13, 2015
mileswalser:
New Video up! “To The Radiology Dept Lab...
New Video up! “To The Radiology Dept Lab Technician.”
Thanks to SlamFind for posting this!
January 11, 2015
You may have known that Andrea Gibson and I were both poets...
You may have known that Andrea Gibson and I were both poets on Write Bloody Publishing, but did you know that we were also talented songwriters and singers with a strong political message? Well, now ya do.
Here’s our feminist cover of “All About That Bass” which combats street harassers with a warning.
January 4, 2015
WHAT I LEARNED WRITING 365 POEMS IN 365 DAYS
-Your first poem will be the worst poem of the entire year. Easily. That’s what happens when you haven’t written in months. You’ve told your students this before, how the water needs to run brown before clear, but you’re still surprised by how brown the water really is.
-Your last poem will not, however, be your best poem of the year. Nor will each poem get better with every passing day. Somehow, though, you will.
-Your best poem of the year may or may not have occurred on Day 10. That’s okay.
-While waiting for Inspiration is, indeed, for amateurs, when Inspiration does come, know that it may knock at the door of you at 2AM and keep you writing until 4. Know that you might wail on your keyboard like a sad singer before her piano.
-Turns out, your trauma is a finite resource. This is both the most aggravating and freeing lesson to learn as a writer.
-Turns out, the most fun you will have writing poetry this year will be your poems about Lana Del Rey. Turns out, the prestigious journal that has rejected you like, ten times, will accept one of these.
-Your poems are infinitely better if you’re also currently reading books. You know this, you tell people this, but scientific proof of the matter is RAD.
-You should read more.
-Poems about your dogs are almost never just about your dogs.
-You miss people you never thought you would miss.
-You will write even when you are sick with fever. The poems will be sick with fever.
-When you realize your trauma is finite, you will write odes to Guacamole. Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap. Bed bugs. Sleeping Pills. Thrift Stores. Your car. Gwen Stefani. Selfies. A friend’s haircut.
-You will write a series of poems with the same titles as all of the tracks on Taylor Swift’s 1989 album. They will be great.
-It will take about 200 days before you skip a day of writing. And then you will skip another, because in your mind you’ve already spoiled it (which is also the attitude you apply to healthy eating. This is inherently unhealthy. Change it.)
-You won’t want to write while you are on vacation. You hardly ever get to vacation. So don’t write. Eat pie. Swim.
-A lot of people will ask you, “But okay, how many of your poems are haikus?” You will feel like a badass when you respond, “None.”
-The point is not 365 perfect polished poems. The point is showing up to your craft every single day. Devoting time to this thing that you say makes you who you are. Learning about your process over your product. The point is that if you are a writer, you must write.
-Apparently it’s infinitely harder to write poems while also writing a novel. It’s okay if you skip some days in November when doing NaNoWriMo. You are still exploring yourself in new and remarkable ways.
-When people congratulate you or seem impressed with your feat, you will make excuses and diminish yourself. “A lot of them were not good!” or “It’s not like I spent time editing them or making them perfect” or “Your poems are a lot better, though.” Stop that. You did this. You have a folder of poems on your computer to prove it. 365 examples that you can do anything you set your mind to. Smile. Say, Thank You. Yes, I did it.
-The year will end. The duty to write a poem every day will be lifted. The desire won’t be. Now is your time.
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Megan Falley is the author of two books of poetry published on Write Bloody: After the Witch Hunt and Redhead and the Slaughter King. To read her essay about taking 365 pictures in 365 days, click here.
January 2, 2015
MEGAN FALLEY INTERN SEARCH !
Hey! I am again looking for another intern to help me catch my wildest dreams by their little toes. If you want to be mentored by a full-time performance poet and teaching artist while using your magical brain for powerful creative and business endeavors, this is the gig for you*.
Interested? E-mail MeganFalley@Gmail.com for more information by January 6th.
*Priority will be given to those local to New York City, but anyone can apply. I’m happy to work with your school so that you can receive college credit for this internship.
December 31, 2014
What I Learned From Taking (& Posting) A Picture Every Day of The Year
-It’s a lot easier to remember what happened in your life if you document it well. [I suppose that’s why I am a writer.]
-When you know that you have to take a picture of something, you will start looking for the best part of your day as it’s unfolding. Older folks might tell you that this is what’s wrong with the world right now, but it actually makes you actively think about beauty before it leaves you.
-There are some days that are too ugly or plain to photograph. Sometimes your pets are the most interesting part of your day. That’s okay.
-You can take photographs on a plane if your phone is in airplane mode. If you fly during sunrise or sunset, people will dig the view.
-Some of your friends are your secret muses. Some people you know will always look like a photograph to you. As if they walk around inside a frame. You will document them well.
-If you offer to take a picture for a stranger, they will often return the favor. This will teach you something about the good in people.
-When you travel alone, the self-timer is your friend, and often better than the selfie.
-Selfies are powerful tools towards achieving self-love. They don’t make our generation narcissistic. They make us realize that even though the motherfuckers try to hold us down, we are actually often quite babe-ular.
-Up-close photographs of snails are surprisingly motivational.
-Standing in front of a brightly colored wall, graffiti, or bricks = instant snazzy photo.
-Here are tiny things that you wouldn’t think make great pictures, but do: give your Starbucks barista the wrong name and photograph your cup with the new name on it, pictures of street signs in new cities, pictures of when your manicure matches whatever you are holding (smoothies, books), pictures when your shoes match your bike or your sweater matches your helmet, muscular men with tiny dogs.
-Pictures of people’s funny wifi network names count as photographs! [Shout out to “Bill Wi The Science Fi”, “Mila Kunis Naked”, and “Not Your Wifi”. Oh. And “Beyonce’s Inferno.”]
-No one has cuter dogs than you. No one.
-We have some of the best technology we’ve ever had, and most of us want to make our pictures look old and nostalgic. This says something about human nature that I haven’t quite articulated it yet.
-Jumping pictures aren’t played out. Latté art may be, unless you made it yourself.
-If you post a photo of you in a dressing room wearing something that you won’t actually buy, it will almost be like buying it and wearing it out in public. Social Media is weird.
-You’ve been to a lot of places. Coney Island is still the most photogenic.
-If you walk around for about ten minutes in Brooklyn, there will always be something worth capturing.
-If you take enough pictures in a row, the animal will stick its tongue out for at least one of them. That’s the one to post.
-The fatter the cat, the better the picture.
-People will want to put their arms around each other and smile. This will never be them at their most beautiful.
-Life looks better candid.
-You will take an artsy photograph of your father left of center with the entire ocean and sunset behind him, and he will ask, “Why am I not in the middle?” Your art isn’t for everybody.
-The people you love will always be gorgeous subjects. Love is the best filter.
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Megan Falley is the author of two books of poetry published on Write Bloody: After the Witch Hunt and Redhead and the Slaughter King. To see all the pictures she took in 2014, follow her on instagram.
December 30, 2014
DECEMBER 2014
I notoriously despise winter, but this December I was lucky enough to spend two weeks in warm weather. I visited my father in Delray Beach, Florida, which is always an exercise in getting to know him. I hung out by the pool and we played tennis too. He also took me on my first cruise—to the Bahamas. I listened to him sing out of tune on the boat’s karaoke nights, ate delicious foods, swam in water so clear I could see my toes. I also drove to St. Petersburg and taught poems to some of the brightest minds in this country at Farragut Admiral Academy. Then I came home and brewed up some of that warm Christmastime feeling with people I love.
Sometimes it’s difficult to be a part of this world — with all the murders of black people and trans women and the lack of accountability on the police and other killers. Somedays it’s hard to leave the house, and that’s me, with my immense list of privileges in this world. But I can only hope to move forward into 2015 with more compassion, bigger ears (for listening), more awareness of my privileges and how they can both help and hurt, more willingness to engage in dialogue, and a heart so big it breaks itself open.
I leave you with a story, December:
Two years ago, in my dad’s development, which is an active retirement community for folks ages 55+, I met a man by the pool. His name was Joe. He was 90 years old and looked great for his age, with all his faculties, and wit to boot. He’d been a pilot in WWII and had seen a lot. He was kind and so gentle, and talked with me by the pool every day. I remember asking him what the best decade to be alive in was. He said “right now.” I was surprised by that answer and I loved it so much. To live in the moment like that! Holy. My father had lent him my first book, After the Witch Hunt, and he told me that he had read it three and a half times. He loved it. Somehow we got into conversation about fiction, and how he did not really think women could write good fiction. I was shocked to hear this because he’d been really rad and liberal up until this point. At the time I had just finished “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed, and I told him to pick it up and read it. I didn’t think he would, really. I kind of said it in passing.
This month I went back to Florida and hung out with Joe again, who looks and seems to feel just as great as ever. We’ve maintained an unlikely friendship over the past couple of years, me at 26 and him at 92, but he’s an old white dude who is not afraid to talk about his privilege, about racism, and he consistently surprises me by being so open to learning, changing, and discussion. In passing he tells me, “You know, I actually read “Wild” after you recommended it. It was so good. And then I picked up another book written by a woman. The New Jim Crow. Both were so wonderful. I can’t believe what I’ve been missing out on my whole life.”
This story inspires me to no end. I hope to never be stuck in my ways like most people who reach 90, or even 52, with their hard hearts, are. Here’s a picture of Joe, who is not related to me by blood, but is sort of like my spiritual grandfather. Here is to hope that we all stay open to learning, reading, and enlightening ourselves, and illuminating this whole dark place to make a more beautiful spot for us all to live in.
NOVEMBER 2014
Oh my, November. Month of learning and possibility. November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, and even though I was three-hundred-something poems deep into my 365 poem project, I said, FUCK IT, and dove into the challenge. I am going to try and explain how it broke me open. I have always said that I wasn’t imaginative enough to write fiction or to make up stories. It’s a pretty wild thing to tell yourself you can’t do something that you’ve never really tried doing. So I tried it. Every day I’d make a cup of tea, sit on one corner of the couch, and tell a story about a girl named Violet who lived in a trailer with her mom and whose best friend was a witch that made a prediction that Violet would fall in love and someone very close to her would die, all in her senior year. That’s all I started with. And 50,000+ words later, I told the whole story. I wrote a novel. My first.
Writing fiction has been so enlightening for me. First of all, I love to do it. Besides writing ‘Bad Girls, Honey (Poems about Lana Del Rey)’, attempting this novel has been one of the most exciting literary endeavors for me so far. Every day—walking the dog, at the gym, making breakfast—I would find myself thinking about my protagonist, about her life, about what would happen next, and every time I sat down at my computer I felt so intensely devoted to telling their stories. I learned that fiction writing is definitely something I want to incorporate more into my life, and that I am too young to limit myself to one genre, one passion, one outlet for language.
That being said, I also had a book release party in my apartment for Redhead and the Slaughter King. I invited some of my favorite New York based poets to read - many thanks to Jeanann Verlee, Eboni Hogan, Olivia Gatwood, and April Ranger - and had two of my favorite singer/songwriters Sophia Wortzel and Shira E perform. It was a special, magical night, hosted by Angel Nafis, and if I could only take 10 memories with me into the next life, the memory of that party would be one of them. For sure.
Here’s a picture of me that night, trying to soak it all in. And sweating. 
Other Highlights:
-Seeing the movie WHIPLASH which was so inspiring and I need you all to get out there and watch it.
-Miles turning 24, and a fun day gallivanting around Williamsburg with him. And then getting a speeding ticket on the way home. Less fun.
-Thanksgiving! When I asked my mom for a pain reliever to cure my headache and she accidentally gave me TWO Aleve PMs, and I passed out and slept through dinner. I’m sure someone thinks that’s a funny story.
-Wild nights with Olivia, random sleepovers with Katie Wirsing and Andrea Gibson on separate occasions.
-Reading ‘The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake’ which I have mixed feelings about and would like to discuss with you, still.
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