After four happy years in the LiveJournal house, I've decided to remove to even more wonderful digs at my own website. I think I'll feel even more at home in my own space, and I think that not having to leave the house will mean cozier and more frequent posting. So I look forwards to welcoming you, chez moi, at the new Green Wave: http://www.katechadbourne.com/journal.ht
I'm home in bed today with a fever and two cats. The latter are teaching me what it means to actually rest, as they lounge in ( various extravagant positions )
A few weeks ago I gave a poetry reading at the library in Brookline, NH as part of a poetry slam - a "nonviolent poetry slam" as we came to call it. And truer words were never spoken because ( the combatants in this slam )
It's a good time these days, with the daffodils sounding their trumpets amid last fall's leaf litter and the peepers advocating a somewhat hedonistic lifestyle every evening in the ponds and wetlands. I'm feeling a bit springy myself, having come out the other side of an attack of allegies/sciatica/mild blues. So I thought it was time for a little celebration and even, yes, ( a little trumpet-blowing. )
We've spun around the great wheel o'fortune once more and arrived at the lucky jackpot: April and ( National Poetry Writing Month. )
Yesterday I had the great honor of presenting a talk at Sharing the Fire, a storytelling conference hosted by ( the League for the Advancement of New England Storytelling )
I've been thinking lately about ( what usually happens when a gig ends. )
A few weeks ago, one of my friends posed this question to a bunch of us: "What have you done lately for the very first time?" ( Great question! )
Just a little fable today about how easily we can become derailed from our own vision and instincts, and how important it is to keep them ( at the center. )
In the last few weeks I've taken the plunge and joined MySpace and FaceBook. Consequently, I have been plunged into a whirl of social networking much like the tornado that carried Dorothy to Oz! I'm enjoying it, though I do sometimes find myself wondering what it's all about. And I get confused about where I am from time to time, making ( My Space Book )
Recently I've been inivted to join a few creative groups that comment on their members' work, and I've been thinking about ( ways that people help and hurt each other in these sorts of groups )
Since I wrote my December post, "How to Get Gigs", I've had occasion to think some more about ( the habits of mind and courtesy that lead to getting gigs. )
Perhaps it's the New Year, or perhaps it's the attention paid to music in the book I just read (Terri Windling's excellent novel, The Wood Wife), but I find myself hungry for new sounds these days! To appease this appetite, I've taken ( a three-fold approach: )
Hello again after a long while away! The ice storm hit us hard here in north central MA, and then the holidays hit us with their own glitter. But on this bright, cold January day I am ( thinking about new beginnings )
Yesterday, after my presentation on "White Horses in the Dark" at Brown University, a woman approached me and said, "I'm not trying to be crass, but how did you get this gig? Who is paying you? Who do I need to talk to?" She wasn't friendly, and ( she smelled like hunger and anger, )
I almost didn’t open the letter, it was so forbidding – a dark brown envelope with even darker ink. Something in me knew it would be a summons, and so I laid it on the mantel and pretended it wasn’t there for the whole last week of October. Or tried to. ( But letters like that aren’t easily forgotten. )
Today is my favorite kind of day - windy, sunny, bright and cool. It feels like the whole world is alive and cheerful. The day got up on the right side of the bed. The birds are well-rested. And with the leaves down, the lake is one sparkling eye, winking at us as though in a shared joke.
( And I'm forty today! )
It's November, the cold winds doth blow, and writers all over the world are buckling themselves to their warm laptops and starting the NaNoWriMo race. ( I'm not. )
Well, ordinarily I'd say: you just know. But that's not always true. Today, for example, I found myself messing around with a song I thought I'd finished this summer. There under my fingers was ( a nice little interlude )
The One Who Won’t Stop
If you begin singing and someone dashes in
and says in a hushed, officious whisper
that they’re bothered in the next room,
( don’t stop singing. )
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