Category: writing

The vanity.

~ maryjunebrown

The vanity of blogs is that the writer supposes that the reader cares about the inner working of the poster’s mind. The vanity of (some) readers is that they imagine themselves somewhere between the lines of the sentences. If I write that this post is aimed at a reader somewhere across oceans, a reader somewhere might think, “I’m an ocean away. This is about me!” Perhaps that reader is correct, but often, the reader cannot know the truth. Suffice it to say…this blog is dedicated to the myriad influences in my life, and is in no way a journal aimed at any one person. That would be much too much, and much too simple.

(You’re so vain. You probably think this blog is about you.)

In other news, I’ve recently done a revamp of my writing submissions through duotrope.com. In doing so, I dredged up some writing I drafted years ago. It’s exciting to revisit it and I may be posting some of it here soon, or on my alter-ego blog…facebook.

###

It has been so, so long.

~ maryjunebrown

It has been a very long time since I’ve written. But that’s not really true. I write everyday, but the things I write lately are not fit for public consumption. They are all about the private triumphs and disappointments one experiences in their inner life.

I have thought seriously of deleting this entire blog. It feels…not relevant, a chore, frivolous. It feels like something “other” or apart from real life.

Sitemeter blues.

~ maryjunebrown ~ 1 Comment

Are you like me, you blogger, you? Do you read sitemeter like I do, searching for clues on who’s searching for you. Who’s that faceless person in Baltimore trying, day after day (though you don’t post every day–not even nearly!) for you. All when the ONE you want, that particular someone, ignores you–their longs&lats never showing up on sitemeter–an insult and a rebuke by their daily absence.

Are you like me?

Quantify it.

~ maryjunebrown ~ 2 Comments

So I am, what now? On a scale of 1 to 10, what?

I’m a seven in prettiness,

a six in brains,

a two in articulation,

an eight in presence,

four in emotional brattiness,

five in the ability to be realistic,

three as compared to your peers,

nine when compared to my peers,

a one in confidence.

Come on. Come on, multiply me. Make me more than the sum of my parts.

Tools for damn good writing.

~ maryjunebrown

Here’s what you’ll need:

  • Angst
  • Put someone up on a pedestal. Now watch him fall off. Re-play that image in your mind as you write.
  • A bottle of cheap wine
  • Breaking (not broken) heart
  • A romantic predisposition
  • A dash of real eccentricity
  • A feeling that you don’t quite belong
  • A hesitancy to speak. A propensity to collect scaps of paper and scribble on them
  • A love/hate relationship with food. Strong opinions about flavors and textures
  • Strong tendecies toward apathy regarding politics
  • Guns N’ Roses, or if not that…Coldplay can work, but if that isn’t for you, try Getz/Gilberto
  • Feelings of inadequacy, or feelings of grandeur. Pick one
  • Did I mention angst? It’s the writer’s best friend.

Use your words.

~ maryjunebrown

 

Use your words.

 

Take heart, broken sad heart. Autumn is on its piper way, and with it, orange-red something somethings

no no no

 

(Deep breaths, girl.

Okay, try again. And a one, a two.)

 

Take heart, sad heart. Autumn is on its way, marching forth, and with it, fire-crossed embers that seal off pain. Isn’t that what they did? Sear the skin with molten coals to prevent bleeding? And didn’t they

 

… tttttt

 

Didn’t they—

 

Um, didn’t they used to (something poetic and profound to be written here)

 

(Deep breaths, honey)

 

Oh God. I cannot write.

 

Journalogue.

~ maryjunebrown

Do you keep a journal, or does it keep you? I often wonder about this, the systematic recording of one’s thoughts, feelings, wishes, fears, desires, episodes, et cetera. I mean, why? Why do it?

Because it’s cathartic, it reminds us of where we’ve been, it shows us how strong we are when we see how far we’ve come.

In college, I was enchanted with author and libertine Peter McWilliams. He wrote a couple of books that were absolutely critical to me. One of them was Come Love With Me and Be My Life. In it, he records the beginning, middle, and end of a romantic love experience. It’s almost voyeuristic to read, because it’s journalistic in nature, and no doubt anyone who’s been through a heartbreak (or two) could relate. One of my favorite entries:

I write only
until I cry,
which is why
so few poems
this month
have been
completed.
It’s just
that
I…

###

Wright.

~ maryjunebrown ~ 1 Comment


It has taken me a couple of weeks to post about the novel Loving Frank, by Nancy Horan. I’ve been perplexed by it–seriously have wondered if the book was put forth with any expectation by the author that the reader would find any sympathy for the characters.

I had to let the book sink into my consciousness, because my judgments were so harsh and so quick. The book centers on the fictionalized, though probable, account of Frank Lloyd Wright and his affair with the wife of one of his clients, Mamah Borthwick Cheney. Horan attempts to put forth their affair so that we should believe their actions are justifiable and even noble. Wright and Cheney fancy themselves other, different, exempt from the mores of society. They are geniuses and forward-thinking: they need not bother with the usual concerns that those in an affair would face–the breaking up of one’s marriage, the terrible impact on the children, the judgment of one’s peers. No, they were above it all (or we are asked to think so) because they were talented.

I work in a building designed by Wright, and his persona is celebrated and hovers in the air each day as I make my way to my desk. I’ve often wondered about the man who thought up those walls, the angles of those staircases, those halls. I imagined him brilliant and eccentric. The truth? He was those things. Mamah was too, to some extent. But, they were also egocentric, pompous, self-absorbed, ugly. ###

I find Goethe comforting.

~ maryjunebrown ~ 1 Comment

Confession: though I disagree mightily with Goethe much of the time, I find his writings to be a comfort. Consider:

“One lives but once in the world.” Does this quote not make you want to somehow experience, feel, touch, be, taste, love, reach, create, affect more in life?

“Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.” Okay, so maybe not inspirational…but you get the sense that you are not alone, that others before you have endured and put their fantasies aside.

and finally,

“As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.” Thank you, Mr. Wolfgang von Goethe, for throwing forth a pinpoint of hope…that somewhere out in the future, if one becomes evolved enough, and learns to have faith in one’s inherent right to a complete and fulfilled life, one will experience, feel, touch, be, taste, love, reach, create, affect more in life.

It’s a lovely circle.