First, the chapbook….
She is at the printer. This is real. Here’s the cover art.
Pretty cool, right? I even like the fact that it has a young energy about it – the pencil drawing, the angelic face… I wonder what she’s point at.
I came across The Basil O’Flaherty website randomly on a creative submissions group on Facebook.
The Basil O’ has published my title poem “Look Where She Points” and another poem in the chapbook, “Vessel.”
I am all about finding the unheard voice, especially the voice within ourselves. The Basil O’ helped me realize my Feminist Voice
Last night I received an email from The Basil O’ regarding the Feminist Voices Interview I completed a few days earlier. I like to take my time answering questions thoughtfully, respectfully, honestly and succinctly.
I never thought of myself as a feminist, I suppose that’s why this is all so intriguing to me. Even after my Psychology of Women class, when I realized that I didn’t know who I was as a woman – because in my family it wasn’t about growing up to be a good woman. My sister and I were raised to be good, productive people. For a while I was the “girlie girl” and my sister was the “tomboy” but eventually I got tired of the dresses and patent-leather uniform shoes and changed it up to jeans and t-shirts. Sure, I like to get dressed up, but only if I am in the mood and feel like putting that much effort into my appearance — usually I don’t.
Looking back at my childhood, I was so happy, so sheltered from the nastiness of the “real world.”
I was shy, an observer, a quiet girl on the sidelines. It seemed like whenever I tried to make my voice known (to teachers, other kids, etc), I either said the wrong thing or teased (moreso in public school than in catholic school).
I was so afraid of disappointing someone – anyone! I was definitely a people-pleaser. I wanted to keep the peace, avoid conflict on any level… but eventually the stress would build up and something would trigger an explosion. I would let it all out – how scared I was about what other people thought of me, how angry I was about what the neighborhood kids did to me on the bus, how I am teased because I was the “teacher’s pet” and that I had a big nose.
I am forty years old now with two children.
My son is 17 and in his senior year of high school. CJ has worked through his Autism Spectrum Disorder and is doing well.
There have been some hiccups this year, particularly with writing assignments.
Last night I think he found his writing voice again.
Keep it up – your words are your ticket.
My daughter is 3 1/2 and has a host of issues – dietary, behavioral, communication – all under the umbrella of her chromosome “one q twenty-one point one” (1q21.1) microdeletion. She’s a fighter, to be sure. She is very “three-nager” right now.
Listening to my two kids argue in the car is a hoot.
“Stop touching me!”
“NO brother, you stop!”
“Leave me alone, Tink.”
I found myself wondering what universe I was in… a 17 year old and a 3 year old speaking the same exact language to each other… I just had to giggle.
and now I write.