Kern Carter's Blog, page 80
November 7, 2021
Do They Not Know It’s Bedtime???
Those tiny little voices are really quiet, until bedtime that is.
I believe those little voices have their sleep schedule reversed and really I don’t have time to flip it. So that would be why it remains the same.
They don’t yap all day. They don’t help with creating ideas, or running my plot, or helping with character names, or even just keeping me stay motivated as I stare at the stupid blank page.
That is until 11pm. I’m snuggled in, ready to just slip into blissful sleep. Then the tiny alarm clock goes off….and they start running around in my head.
“Hey Juanita, how about Christian, or Sam, or Leo, or wait was your main character a guy or a girl. Why did that character do that….whats the REASON…”
“Excuse me, Excuse me…What about a book about writing at night…no wait that’s not going to work”
“Hey I got it, you need to write 2 articles a day, plus a short story and you need to get that novel you put on the shelf back into a rewrite. You have so much to do… and don’t forget you need to read more…. like a lot more…Did you lock the door? How come he snores so much? How about a story on snoring….why is it so hot in here….you should get up and write this stuff down, it’s good. Come on, get up and write it down…”
And there are times I do get up and write stuff down, and there are times when those little voices just cause a lot of unneeded stress. Especially when I don’t feel I’m doing enough to work on my writing. They push me and push my buttons, especially if I have skipped a day or two on writing.
I had voices long ago that told me I was never going to be a writer, that what I wrote meant nothing and would amount to nothing. It took a lot of practice to drop those voices but the method was easy.
I wrote.
I liked what I wrote. If I didn’t like it, I tossed it.
If I liked it, it was ok if others didn’t.
The “not good enough” voices try and pop in every once in a while, but they are disruptive and harmful. So I don’t give them rental space.
Little voices can be helpful or harmful, toss the harmful and give heed to the helpful. Learn and grow, take chances, explore, toss it if it doesn’t work and most of all be yourself.
[image error]Do They Not Know It’s Bedtime??? was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Ballad For the Sweet Boys
I am a Violent Man
Have been all my life
Violent thoughts
Violent dreams
Never a day of quiet
Not a friend
Nor a loved one
Have I not dreamed of hurting
For something said
Done or undone
For something I am losing
To my father
I’m a sweet boy
Sweetest he’s ever known
I learned from him
Never hit girls
Until the day that he went wrong
He met my mother
With his fist
Because she burned beneath his skin
Then he took me in his arms
And said
Son, that’s just the way it is
Women will do that to you
He went on
Get under the skin and burn
‘Til you can’t tell
If you’re sick or well
‘Til you’re not the man you were
In school I remember
Being picked on
By boys and girls alike
Because I fell
And cried
Failed and cried
‘Til I thought that I would break
Fight, they said
Fight
Or you’ll never be left alone
So I fought and won
But they never left
Only found me all the more
My uncle
Once at dinner
Stole food off of my plate
He didn’t stop
‘Til I put my knife
Through the middle of his steak
I cut off a piece
And ate it
Looking him in the eye
My uncle shook his head
And said
At least now you don’t cry
I do still cry
But oddly now
For characters I never knew
Pixar can do it
Damn them
But not the stepbrother gone too soon
For him it was different
Harder
There is something wrong with me
I am a Horror Man
It’s helped me through so much
Dark colors
Darker ends
But sometimes it’s not enough
Sometimes it’s too much
All those terrible things
They soak into my dreams
And tell me
I could get lost in this
My wife says I’m a gentleman
And we all need a good cry
Happiness is hard to find
But deep down I know she’s right
I am a Father now
My daughter
Smiles more and more each day
At night I watch her
So afraid
Of the man across the street
The man who looks like me
But speaks
With fists
And bloody screams
The man who can’t admit
There’s more to him than this
We need to admit
We know this man
He looks just like the rest of us
We need to allow him Pixar
Damn them
Because we can’t go on like this
Because it’s not the stories
Songs
Or thoughts
That make up all of Hell
It’s the one who cannot talk
The one who won’t allow
My wife
Bless her
Reminds me that I can
Even when I’m not sure how
While at night
My daughter
Sleeps
And in the quiet
I allow
Ballad For the Sweet Boys was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
November 6, 2021
If You Decide to Love Someone
Photo by Jonathan Borba from PexelsThe society is groomed to believe
that “Love” is a safe haven
for insecurity,
for loneliness, and
for unhealed trauma to thrive.
Regret,
Hatred, and
Wounds that won’t stay closed
because we hang on so tight
to what we had that was perfect, in turn,
craving for that one specific “Love” once again,
only to realize that it will never be the same,
even if that person came back.
I did not feel weak
even the slightest when she came,
she built me up,
showed me powerful,
genuine, and
nurturing love.
She stayed around
so I’d get my head together, and
realize how much damage
I’ve been doing to myself,
how I refused to bury my past,
so I’d have a future with her.
Her and I are like Yin and Yang
— we made that personal.
I’d write her poems, and
I never believed in a God,
didn’t believe in a Heaven, but
she made me feel like
I was closer to “God”
than the angels ever could be.
Her love was like a constant blanket
that I had over me,
that kept me warm, and
I could feel it.
I was Superman bathed perfectly in titanium, and
fear didn’t exist at all.
She was my New Eden, and
I burnt it all down, because
I did not love myself first.
If you’re reading this,
if you have your person,
if they give you strength,
if they show you the absolute best of yourself, and
sees the fire in your eyes.
Don’t hold back that love,
don’t wait to say anything,
don’t allow outward opinion manipulate you in any sense.
This world needs more love, and
it is rare as hell to find something sincere
which you don’t have to even think of second guessing it.
Love has no upper limit, and
you should be feeling it,
even through the hard times.
You should. So,
Love the hell out of your hate,
Love the hell out of yourself,
Love the hell out of your person.
If You Decide to Love Someone was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Creating and destroying, at the base of the pleasures of life: cooking, theater, play
The two opposite actions paradoxically give life to some joys of existence, even if sometimes we don’t notice them: cooking, theater, play
November 5, 2021
She wanted to be seen
Can you imagine being a twelve your old Black girl walking on the beach with your adopted White father and hearing people whisper, feeling their stares? It’s a feeling most can’t relate to; shame and confusion and uncertainty from Alessia as her father expresses anger and calls those people out in front of her.
Ferita. She felt hurt, by stares, hanged at her father’s arm. Her father called those people out: “It’s my daughter!” He shouted. He lived by a rule: shake it off. There, Lei couldn’t move on and found no reason to keep the smile. She held it all in and dived into reading even more.
In chapter 2 of An Italian Diary, Alessia takes us through her teenage years. She’s growing into a young woman. Someone who wants to fit in and stand out. Someone who struggles to understand why her first boyfriend even likes her.
She dreams of the perfect relationship. Of being swept off her feet like the Italian actresses she admires. She wants to be hit on in the clubs she frequents with her friends. But she feels contradicting. Her thoughts, her actions, her imagination—all moving in opposing directions.
My favourite part of this chapter comes at the very end. Alessia describes a time she poses for a painter:
The painter complimented her, her body and complexion, for so long that Lei turned jealous. She needed that kind of attention. So, Lei did it, she posed for him wearing just a turban and necklace, and she felt objectified but beautiful.
Read the full chapter here.
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[image error]She wanted to be seen was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
