A.D. Sams's Blog, page 3

Letters on the Wind

Sometimes you use your blog to help sort some stuff out in your head. I’ll be doing that for a little while, so stick with me, folks. Maybe it will help someone else out there in the mean time.

On that note….

There was once a time…no…there’s always a time, so let me begin by saying that I once had this habit the product of which was my random eruptions of treatise to the world.  I wrote letters.  They were never to anyone in particular, and I usually left them wherever I happen to be walking or waiting or feeling inspired.

Keep in mind, this was a long time ago. I miss this part of me.

Here’s the scene: In the middle of a busy grocery store, waiting on a very slow shopping partner, I wrote the following letter, tore it out of my notebook, and slid it between some sadly wilted roses.

Dear You,
Why do people feel the need to stick to the tradition of bouquets? I’d rather get a bouquet of butterflies, or even tiny pumpkins on a fall day. Why can’t I have a dozen places to wiggle my toes in the grass?

Do you ever find that the good traditions die and the boring ones propagate until no one knows why they wear white by the date or get eggs in April?

Sometimes I want a dozen ugly things so I can be the flower.
~Me

Circling back around to the checkout line, I saw a man with those same roses in his hand find the note. He read it then dropped the flowers back down into the water with all the other bundles and exited the store. I’m hoping my little dispatch didn’t cause too much trouble for the florist that year. It was the only one I ever saw delivered.

I wrote this one and watched the letters dissolve in my bath water.

Dear You,
I bathed in a tub of hot water and pristine white bubbles, the kind that crackle on your skin when you raise your knee from the water. I burned incense the scent of India flora, and watched the smoke curl around the air.

As it crossed the stream of water pouring from the faucet, for a moment I thought the liquid turned to haze and I had taken a bath of smoke.
~Me

I had no real purpose other than getting whatever was in my head at any given moment out into the open.  I kept a second copy of most of the letters in an unremarkable notebook on the bottom shelf of my bookcase, where they were quite formally acquainted with The Longman Anthology of British Literature and The Collected Works of H.G. Wells.

Dear You,
There are days like this, where the sun is warm and the shadows are cool, that I sit in the middle of color and grey. I look at the sun shadow on my body and imagine my skin folding upwards into a thousand butterflies that greet the sky.

And then I want to fly away.
~Me

Maybe some part of me hoped that when I had something to say, someone out there was listening to me.

Dear You,
Did you know that there is a flower named after the stars? It’s called the Trientalis Borealis.  It’s a small flower with six soft white petals that fold out, like a shooting star coming up from the earth instead of down from the skies.

As a little me, I watched the old Disney nature films.  You know the ones with time-lapse flowers blooming and dying before you could appreciate that they existed? I would watch the bees visiting flower beds, announced by a narrator with a rumbling bee voice. I would see the seasons changing in a breath.

The Sumerians had it right when they worshiped downwards towards the earth. Life growing upwards and outwards, from the womb of the soil. It was the Babylonians and Egyptians that moved their eyes to worship the sky.

That’s why everything falls.
~Me

Dear You,
In the pit of my stomach, there’s a black nest where a night bird lays eggs with pieces of me inside them. The eggs are so blue they disappear in the sky, and the shells are hard like marble statues. Here, the darkness is liquid.

Is there anyone who knows how to reach into the waters and hold the eggs in their palm? Do they warm the shells, melting them? And when the eggs break open, will I know me again?
~Me

I wrote many letters to You and even cataloged them in an anonymous blog for a while.  A Letter on the Wind, I’d named it. The occurrence didn’t settle in until later that I’d spent that time writing letters to myself. It just took a while for me to get them.

The time has possibly arrived for me to start writing them again.

 

We Are Who We Are

Once upon a time, I took the train to work. The thing about Atlanta is that if you’re not driving a car, you’re stuck on MARTA. Some might find that an unsavory dish, but there’s something deeply beautiful about sharing your commute with a train full of strangers. There’s a connection to the city that you don’t find while sitting alone in your car.

These days I live outside of the city and I work from home, but there was a time….

There was a time my day would go something like this:

I run to to the train as the wind of arrival gets sucked into my chest.

For three stops I’m alone with my thoughts,

wondering what things make me

me.

Two rushing men enter from opposite sides of the train.

One is older wearing two button-ups over his t-shirt.

The other has dreads sprouting on the top of his head.

Both men move their mouths without a sound,

the elder reads directions from a hot pink brochure,

and the younger sings along to the tunes in his head.

They catch me

the watcher, the note taker,

looking at them, and go back to their business.

Two women test the strength of a bench.

They’re full and round,

wiggling as they position themselves.

They discuss their lack of air-conditioning,

lack of screens on their windows at home,

and their concern for the weight of their children.

They look over at me,

the curvy tattooed girl,

and compliment the colors on my skin.

I eat my granola.

Neither of them bother with the calories of their breakfast.

I make my exit.

Two loud men stand side by side in front of the station

both talking into the air.

Bluetooth pandemonium

on the other side of their heads.

It tricks me,

the fool who responds.

The man in grey curses loudly at his assistant,

while the man in blue tells his mother goodbye.

Two small women wheel their suitcases up the sidewalk.

They almost run into me,

a slow walker,

in their race to different destinations.

The blonde stops to tie her shoe,

as the brunette takes a left toward home.

Two fluttery birds twirl and swoop

in a low flight across ,

a waltz on the wind.

The sky begins to brighten over me,

the girl on the street,

as the birds twist their direction

and fly over my head.

Two happy dogs are on their morning walk -

a poodle named Stanley, and a Pug named Soup.

Stanley doesn’t want to go.

He only wants belly rubs from me,

a strange yet sympathetic passerby.

Soup sits in the dirt,

panting and peeing on his own leg.

And just down the street,

as I walk with a smile,

the speaker outside of the Corner Bakery sings,

“We are who we are…”.

Long Time, No Blog

*blows the dust off of Ye Olde Blog* Somebody needs to take some Pledge to that junk (and by somebody, I mean somebody else).

Hello again! I do believe the last time we spoke I was heading straight for my busy season. Fall always brings a multitude of great events and I make sure to squish as many of them as I can into October and November (along with my birthday and all of my unbirthdays, which I do believe some of you missed). You can scroll down in the blog to see the debacle of Halloween crack I rolled in, so I won’t venture yet again into my love of the holiday.

Other than Halloween, I had the absolute privilege of being a guest author for Spooky Empire’s Ultimate Horror Weekend. It was my first convention as a guest and I had a complete blast. Not only did I actually talk in front of a room full of people (go ahead and gasp, because I sure as hell was hyperventilating on the inside), but I met some of the coolest people you’ll ever meet. From Stephen Biro from Unearthed Films (he’s also a fantastic author and I highly recommend his book Hellucination) to Indy McDaniel to the dynamite in a small package…not that his package is small…never mind…Jeffrey Stundel of WTF Books. OOH! AND I got to meet one of my absolute favorite new authors, Hugh Howey, author of Wool. If you haven’t read it, I can’t stomp my feet hard enough to make you do it. Wool is my favorite read from 2012, which landed it on my Top 10 Favorite Books list.  Yes, I attempted to keep my inner fangirl at bay. I only forced him into one picture (or two…shut it) with me on the last day.

I finally got to see a screening of Rob Fox‘s movie Ace the Zombie (loved it!!). I got my picture taken with the zombie 4th Doctor and with the lady from The Birds AND I got my picture drawn. Oh, and I received a plethora of hugs from . If you ever need a hug in your life, you bettah hope T-Dog is around because that’s a man that knows how to give a hug. I’m not swooning. Stop looking at me like that.

Most of my favorite moments actually came from the panels. Not only did I get to talk about on of my favorite B-flicks, Blood Feast, but I got to order an alcoholic beverage from the audience and one was actually brought to me…not that I needed it at that point. Moving on….

THENNNN…..

November rolled around and my very first book was released by Fey Publishing. Bayou L’Abeille represents a large part of my creative life at its high point. I never thought it would happen, but it totally did and I’m overwhelmed by it. For a long time, I never had the courage to even show my writing to a friend. I stepped out of my comfort zone one day and look where it led me – book published, red hair, and too much sassy-pants for one girl. Just kidding. Today I’m wearing my smart pants. Tomorrow, it’s the fat pants. Don’t ask.

Anyway, you can find my book on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and it is now available for Kindle.

At this point, I’m a rambly thing. I realize this, so I’ll make the follow-up brief from here and promise a more entertaining post next time. Around and after the time of Book was pretty much a blur: Birthday, Work, School, Ink, Work, Sick, School, Work, Work, ChristmasWorkSick, Fussiness, Life, New Years, Work. I’m currently working on two short story collections. One is a follow up to Bayou L’Abeille of weird, unusual, and down-right horrific tales from the bayou. The other is a collaborative collection of horror stories about beasts and things that lurk in the shadows.

That about sums it up.

Oh, and it wouldn’t be a post from me without some sort of picture pages….

Hug Howey and one very excited A.D. Sams at Spooky Empire Ultimate Horror Weekend 2012

The Zombie 4th Doctor and a Zombie Prom A.D. Sams at Spooky Empire Ultimate Horror Weekend 2012

The Birds…oh, and me.

A.D. Sams by Michael Duron of Orlando, FL at Spooky Empire Ultimate Horror Weekend 2012

 

 

Month of Cah-Ray-Zee!

October is without a doubt my favorite time of year. It is also my BUSIEST time of year hands down. Once October 1st hits, every bit of free time I have is booked solid. Parties, events, festivals, not to mention Halloween, and baking fill my time. If I could go without sleep, I probably would. Not only that, but my birthday falls on November 3rd, my anniversary is on November 5th, and this year my first book, Bayou L’Abeille, is being released on November 1st.

*passes out*

These are all amazingly great things, mind you. I’m really not complaining. The second week of November is known as Sleepy Time then Pie.

This past week I got the chance to meet up with fellow author, Rob Fox. He needed some new head shots and we have a major project in the works. After a fantastic lunch at East Atlanta Village’s Midway Pub, we hopped over to snap a few photos.

Here, I’ll share one. Check out those eyelashes.

Today, I’m making treats for a gathering and then work, work, work until the next set of things to do. Really, I’m trying to be patient until Spooky Empire’s Ultimate Horror Weekend where I’ll be a guest author. I’m stupid excited about this. In fact, I’m almost as excited about that as the release of my book the weekend after I return. lol

In Which I Was Left Unsupervised in a Halloween Store

Halloween is my ultimate favorite time of year. I love spooky, creepy, scary, weird, and insanely giant reasons to be creative. I decided in my infinite wisdom the other day to visit the Halloween stores unattended. Now, I’m an adult (I promise), but when I walk into these shops (this also goes for bookstores), I lose my ever-lovin’ mind.

Sure, I know I literally have no need for a giant blow up spider that scales my house and lays little ghost eggs that float into the sky (I’m so gonna trade mark that as soon as I finish this post),  but in my dementia I will not be able to live any further if it does not enter my possession.

So, about three stores and minus $60 later, I get home and have a few decorations and some costume-y and make-up-y bits to play dress up!

So I attacked K when she got home and made her take pictures that I then played with in Photoshop because that’s what I do.

Consider it therapy…not the rapy.

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Dog Shaming: Version – My House

We have four fantastically personalitied dogs, two large and two small.  They are a source of constant entertainment, love, scorn, frustration, laughter, and anything else you can pull out of the emotional bag.

We love them immensely.

After my daily visits to Dog-shaming.com, I decided to bring down the “wrath” on our own fur beasts.

This is Sherwood. He’s half Newfoundland and half…crazy train. His alter ego, Captain Crunk, causes him to hop like a bunny, race from one side of the yard/room/space to the other about fifty times and then skid to a halt at your feet then try to hug you. I apologize a lot.

 

This is JoJo. He is best friends with Smokey (you’ll see him later). He loves to love. I can’t count the number of times that Smokey goes outside to take a nape and there’s JoJo humping like there’s no tomorrow. Ever see a Chihuahua start humping motions just by looking at something?

 

 

 

This is Smokey. He is big and goofy and I love him. He, however, has taken to barking loudly in the middle of the night. All. Night. Long. He does it right underneath the bedroom window. While I know he must feel a sense of protecting the yard, he inflames my sense of get-in-the-garage-before-I-give-you-to-a-circus.

 

And this lovely lady is Zoe. She’s a hot mess, but that’s what makes us love her so much.

 

There they are, all of our furry bundles of love and coo-coo. Life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without them.

Breaking Fences

The earmarks of a life tend to be driven by where the boundaries of the comfort zone fall. Think about it. All of those big moments, the devastations, the triumphs, the failures…all of those things happened when you were pushing, pull, breaking through, and down-right trampling the circle of your comfort zone.

That’s kind of where I am right now. Big things are happening. Big. Amazing. Things. I’m either going to shove my giant butt to the top of the hill, or my ass will land right back where I started. I could take the easy way out and just pull it all to a screeching halt, but where would that leave me?

It’s important to move forward and test the circle. Why? It’s because nothing happens inside the comfort zone that will create a landmark in your life.

Let me say that again:

Nothing worth remembering happens inside your comfort zone.

I gave you an extra space so you could contemplate.

I’m in this nexus. I am publishing my first book for the world to see and I don’t think the “real” hit me until today. I met with a friend who is designing my book cover. We made a lot of progress (which we always do…can’t have THAT much awesome in a room without something cool happening). I think seeing those words and images on the screen really helped it all sink in.

I’m scared and excited all at the same time, both emotions that circle the edges of my comfort zone.

It’s time to jump, ladies and gents and those in between.

If you’d like to keep up with the progress, join me on my Facebook fan page

or follow me on Twitter.

Much love,

A.D. Sams

Quick Drive-By Post!

I’ve created a facebook fan page for my writing. I have a new book coming out on November 1st, so please like the page to keep up with the details!

The Official A.D. Sams

Painting With the Sun

Because I’ve already posted something writy as a special edition post for the week, I decided to share photos for our weekly installment. Anyone who knows me, knows that I LOVE sunbursts and sun effects in my pictures. I know they aren’t supposed to be there, so I generally ignore the critics and go on playing with the light whenever I want. Sometimes, you like what you like no matter what anyone says.

 

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The Memory of a Footprint: 9/11

It’s not often that I share my own memory of 9/11. I might have recounted it at one time, but for whatever reason, it’s not a yearly thing for me to share.

I was working at a technical recruiting firm in Atlanta, GA at the time. Being the payroll administrator, I wasn’t chained to my desk all day and I had made a habit of visiting the café downstairs for breakfast every morning.

The ladies in the café liked to play their small radio instead of the overhead speakers so they could hear the customers. It was a small, square thing with retractable antennas. I remember this because as I asked for my bagel, one of the women reached over and moved the long, silver protrusion to get a better signal. She turned and said, “They just said a prop plane ran into the World Trade Center. I didn’t think you could even fly near there. That’s weird.”

By the time I had paid for my food, the report came that it was not a prop-plane, but an actual airliner. I left my change, ran to the elevator and scared the pants off of the four people I worked with by flinging open the door and attacking our office radio.

“A plane has hit the World Trade Center.”

They stared at me with blank concern.

“I mean it. A giant plane with lots of passengers has hit one of the Towers.”

I finally finagled the radio to the correct station and there the reports were already growing worse. My boss at the time was a staunch Republican who began his mantra of the day, “This is an act of war!” I distinctly remember his drawl on the final word of his statement. Every time he said it, the word “war” lingered and it scared me.

We were all emotional wrecks. By the time we finally received word from corporate that we were to close the office for the day, we had all already gathered our belongings and were headed home.

I lived with someone at the time and we did not have television access at home, so I spent the rest of the evening alone in the living room listening to the radio reports.  It took my then boyfriend almost three hours to get home in all of the traffic. The phone lines were jammed and I didn’t know where he was.

You might think that by listening to the reports and not watching all of the horrific visuals might create a disconnect with the events of the day, but I can tell you that it did not. By the time I finally watched the television coverage, it was like reliving the day all over again while everyone else had already numbed from that initial visual shock.

There are days in history where every person you talk to can remember where they were when it happened (Kennedy Assassination, Challenger Explosion, etc.). It’s one of those extreme and tragic events that leave a footprint on a person. A footprint shared by each and every soul.