No, Darth Vader, Now The Circle Is Complete

After four years of work, yesterday, I completed the first draft of my third book, the last in the trilogy.

No applause? Okay, I’ll keep going.

Anyway, I can’t really say that I feel a monstrous sense of relief or that I feel any different. I mean, yeah, I snagged a Pizza Hut pizza (pepperoni and olives with a totally yummy honey barbeque drizzle) and had a nice salad, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a helping of cherry cordial ice cream on the side while watching one of my favorite movies, Battle: Los Angeles (hey, when I party, I really party), but other than the constant prayer to any god who would listen to my pleas of holding back my inevitable tummy ache (so worth it, by the way), I simply didn’t feel anything that I would describe as “different.”

Maybe it’s because I feel like I still have a lot of work ahead of me. First of all, I have to look back at the synopses that I wrote and make any needed changes to them so that they accurately reflect the contents of my novels. I know the third novel went on a kind of different track than what I was predicting when I originally wrote the synopsis for it. Secondly, I want to get to revising each of my books, especially the first one, as I’ve learned so much more about writing since I finished it a couple of years ago. That’s going to be a huge task considering that my three novels total out to just a smidgen over 276,000 words. Finally, I’d like to begin sending out query letters, preferably after the first book has been revised, so I can see about attracting an agent to my work.

That’s the plan anyway, and we all know how plans go, don’t we? That’s why I tend to stick with my protagonist’s super-duper-simple, two-step plan for tackling anything – Step one: Start shit. Step two: See what happens.

I guess we’ll see what happens. 🙂


Home may be where the heart is,
but I have yet to find my heart.

And so I wander on and on
in a frozen circle,
not desiring fame or wealth
or the one-night stand
of any particular night
with a beauty broken enough
to want to submit to me –
I speak, of course, of the night.

I don’t crave all the wants I can get
or all the women I can want
or the power to forget
all the hurts I have brought
or remains of pain delivered to me,
for I am its home;
I am its heart, without a heart
of my own.

My one wish
is for a place
to rest my head.

Waiting Room

I’m too old
I look too young
I’m too depressed
A song already sung
I’m too unmotivated
I’m too sad
My better times
Are only a fad
I’m alone too much
I have too little
When I think
My thoughts are brittle
I speak too clearly
Say what’s on my mind
And people become
Much harder to find
I’m much too honest
Far too sincere
Which is far too scary
For others to hear
I give too much
And receive much less
But it’s all for the sake
Of trying my best
But my best is lacking
I come up too short
I judge myself often
On top of judgments of your sort
I’m too trapped
too regretful
too nice
too silent
too slow
too tolerant
too patient
too strange
too unfeeling
too separate
too shameless
too much like no one
of a comfortable range
I feel too much
Yet not enough
Every tease of happiness
Is merely a bluff
I’m too damaged
More and more battered
Too insignificant
To actually matter
I’m too specific with words
To have a place called “home”
So even in death
I’ll wait as I roam
I can’t enter into Heaven
I don’t righteous too well
And as I’m too good
I’m unwelcome in Hell

The Autumn They Share

The autumn leaf never fell for the wind,
for it falls every day.
Life has hardened it crisp and coarse
and easy to crumble,
but the wind sweeps it off its base
to carry it away
as autumn wind cradles the fragile leaf
to together tumble,
without care,
entwined in their fate,
kissing the autumn they share.

The Observant

My fingers slip around the green, green stems,
cupping then releasing to cup the next,
every flower the same yellow as the cliché sun
drawn and colored on a child’s blank canvas,
silently conveying
what is thought and felt
of the world pulsing within them.

Their petals sway in the surrounding winds,
the same winds that buoy the wings of bees
as they float from flower to flower,
hoping men who examine their actions
don’t use their actions
as an excuse for behavior
of a completely different nature.


Sometimes I hear people say, “Depression is a disease.”

This is normally said either by normal people or by people who have been convinced by normal people that what they have is wrong.

But I’ve learned to be grateful for the wrong I have and the wrong I am.

If I didn’t fall into depression, I wouldn’t be able to write what I write, not only in poetry but in my novels as well. I wouldn’t be able to feel what my depressed characters feel.

If I didn’t fall into depression, I wouldn’t know what it is that other depressed people feel, and for that, I’m grateful; I’m grateful to know.

If I didn’t fall, I wouldn’t come to realize that falling again and again is good practice for rising back up again and again.

So yes, I’m grateful for what I go through. I’m grateful that I am wrong. I’m grateful to have been blessed with this depression that allows me a unique, outside perspective of normal.

You hear that, Sadness? I’m glad to be with you, whenever you need someone, whenever you need me. While other people push you away and make you be alone and make you feel bad for being what you are, I’m glad to be with you.

I’m glad to be your friend.

I am here.

The Power Rangers Breakfast Club? (No Spoilers …Almost)

Don’t worry; I’ll throw out a warning before the spoilers.

Anyway, I liked the new Power Rangers film, I really did; however, there was something oddly familiar about it. I wonder what that was…

The Power Rangers Breakfast Club

Look, I’m all for inspiration, but this is just a blatant copy. I much would’ve preferred if the Rangers had their own identities rather than this movie standing as a sort-of Breakfast Club remake, only with 100% more Megazord. The Rangers even had their version of the emotional confession scene in which the characters confess their secrets to each other. It was uncanny. At that moment, I said to myself, “This really is like The Breakfast Club, just without the character depth and natural conflict.”

Again, I like the film (I am a fan and did watch the original Mighty Morphin series back in 1993); I was simply disappointed by the writers taking a bit of a lazy route, especially when I found a couple of scenes in the film (revolving around Zordon and Jason, and Rita as well) to show a lot of potential for what the movie as a whole could have been.

Other than that, there’s really not much to say about this film. It’s Power Rangers. If you enjoy the show, you’ll enjoy the movie. It’s simply what it is: a feature-length version of the Mighty Morphin pilot episode that copies The Breakfast Club, with a touch of Chronicle.


Okay, now I have to talk freely about the film because I want to share something that I feel could have been written into one of the scenes. I’m speaking of the scene in which Billy drowns. When the Rangers pulled him out of the water and had him lying on the dock while they panicked over him, I wondered why none of the Rangers performed CPR on Billy. Of course, that gave me an idea for an exchange of dialogue that I felt should have occurred at that moment…

Zack: Give him CPR!
Jason: I don’t know CPR! Does anyone know CPR?!
Kimberly: No!
Trini: No!
Zack: I don’t know CPR! Does Billy know CPR?!
Jason [staring in disbelief]: He’s kind of the one that needs it.

Phantom You

she said, “I’ll see you when I get back.”
and as i walked away, i looked back,
because of a feeling i had
that i’d never see her again,
and i wanted to see her one more time.

this is the reason i keep looking back.