Good Morning, my lovies.
I’ve been out of the mix for a few days, and I’d like y’all to know that I’m okay. I’ve received some concerned fanmails from my bestestest babes, and it really warmed my heart. <3
My focus has shifted, that’s all. Assist Wireless pulled the plug on the Missouri team with absolutely no notice whatsoever, causing me to lose my job, so my hands automatically did what they know best - creating.
Aside from applying for other jobs, and trying to get things to transition as smooth as possible (yeah, right. good fuckin’ luck), I’ve been tangled in yarn, and I’ve got jump rings all over the place. I’ve been learning a new craft - jewelry making.
I was thinking yesterday about what we give up when we are busy trying to make ends meet. I haven’t made a loaf of bread since November. I haven’t completed a full size blanket since September, nor have I made jam in just as long.
We miss school plays and band rehearsals. We miss out on helping the little ones bake cookies for favorite teachers. We miss our favorite shows, or we are late to dinner with someone we’ve fallen head over heels for. We forget the way the sunrise blinks her weary eyes across the horizon, and we no longer allow the sunset to tuck us into bed. We miss reflection and instead of looking inward at ourselves, we constantly look away and toward the next line of customers, or the next set of screws needing to be tightened in order to get the job done correctly.
We miss out on the one thing we all try to sustain - life, and it all seems so wrong to me.
breaking down the wall with the resident mama
I think it is safe to say that this interview will go either very smoothly from first word to climaxing conclusion or the sheets might end up in a heaping crumbly mess and we will spend an eternity trying to sort the facts….
Shannon: ‘Ello there, Wolfie. I’m pleased to be here. I think it’s safe to say I agree with you, and I will do my best to pretend to behave.
Wolfie: Most people in the Tumblr writing community already know about the breaking down the wall project but for amusement sake I will go over it again.
The project initially began to break down an illusion, a wall or obstacle between newer Tumblr writers and those that are veteran.
Shannon, do you remember how you felt when you first got started writing on Tumblr?
Oh…. And don’t skip out any details….
Shannon: I hate to say this, but I disagree with anyone who says there isn’t one. However, I don’t think it was the veteran writers who put it there. When I first started here, I had no clue which way was up - the lamb who lost the shepherd. I remember looking at the “Who You Should Follow” thing and truth be told, I followed almost all of them under the Poetry tag. Then I clicked on the Writing tag and followed more. I figured if I saw Tumblr in action, I would have a good jumping off point. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when I refreshed the dash. All of a sudden, I felt I was in a world where I could never compare to the things I was reading. I was scared shitless, but it certainly wasn’t the writers’ faults. My own insecurities threw up the red flag and raised the wall, and it was up to me to storm that castle and break it down.
Wolfie: the imagination can be a dangerous thing baby…
Shannon: *nods* Mine’s gotten me into some trouble before…
Wolfie: So … you now have a great following (readers and friends) meaning pretty much that you have indeed not only left the castle in ruins but also slayed the dragon…. what of the metaphorical princess? Would that be your voice by written word or would that be something else you freed here on Tumblr?
Shannon: My follower-friends <3. I had a nervous breakdown over pickles and they stayed. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. Or, maybe, they just love a good train wreck. *giggles*
My voice? I don’t know, sweetheart. You know the old Mario games, when you would defeat Bowser at the end of the castle levels, and it would tell you “Your Princess is in Another Castle”? That lovely face-palming moment? Well, sometimes my voice feels how Mario must have felt - filled with trepidation and exhaustion, and never quite getting to where he wants to be, but he knows eventually he will. Other times, my voice feels how Luigi must have felt - nothing more than a sidekick to the verifiably-insane star of the show, and sometimes my voice is Princess Peach after she’s been rescued, when can finally wear a proud smile on her face. It’s an odd thing, Wolfie - how one’s voice carries, and I’m still not sure I completely understand mine.
Wolfie: that is one awesome perspective…. and since you brought up sidekicks and such ….. Lol
Shannon: Don’t you dare…
Wolfie: Let’s feed off of that for a moment and guide you to the magical merry go round of naming those that you feel have supported you the most on this wonderful “Tumblr” journey.
Would you be so kind and names those individuals or groups if applicable?
Shannon: Oh good heavens of meatballs made from macaroni… *cringes* I knew you were gonna do it. Damn it… *shakes head* Sheesh… okay. Here we go…
Don’t go tootin’ your own horn, Wolfie, but you were my first. Betcha didn’t know that, did ya? I made a post about how you can tell what’s going on inside a woman’s brain by what her favorite song is at the moment, and in an attempt to understand me, you sent me a message asking what mine was. Boom. Instant friendship and support. I loved ya to bits in that moment and I still do.
Daniel (not just a bastard, but the bastard), George (ink-slinger12), Roggy ( whenalionroars), Greg (loqui), Monkey (purplemonkeysexgod69), Mike (mikefrawley ), My Baconated Beauty (bipolarbacon), Boober (depravedevotion), Theresa (lonelyinsomniac), Ananya (theanimatedquill), Tran (slimwarriorkhan), Eva (labelledamesansdice), Kevin (takingstockofwhatmattersmost), Kevin (lilrowboat), Jack (franticallylost), Lisa (thislongstrangejourney), Doodles (thedailydoodle), Doodie (donnydo), Cherokee (cherokeeghostwriter), David (maxmundan), Tim (bianchiblue), NayNay (nathensurman), Kitty (kittygory), Vermie (vermillionborder), Dom (archonofdarkness), Lily (ladydragonslair), Ali Girl (songbirdali), Allan (allanegory), Andy (rundownverses), Ghosty (ghost-inthesystem), Cary (longtallandcute), Terry (frofc), Navin (wordswritteninsilence), Naveen (smittenbywords), MJ (mj-orchard), Smistie (smist999), My Little Llama (lulu-llama), Mikey (mikeyj529), Foxie (shamanfox), Lil Mergirl (curvypervyme), Lady (ladymaze), Cornelius (cornelisrage), Bubby (chriswwriter), Hugo (fuelingdesires), Anne (anneisrestless), Lauren (lzlabs), Azrael (azraelwrites), Amy (inrhapsodicchaos), Jillian (lookingforjillian), Thoughtsie-Totsie (thoughtsunrehearsed), M.Brian (mbhackney), Andira (wordrummager), Bob (bcourchaine - the shoulder I run to every damn time), Bettie (missingmyunicornandherjellybeans - all the time) and last but certainly not least - Joy (numerousurlchanges - Joy needs no words, for none could define her. She’s the bee’s knees, y’all). My goodness… I adore these people.
Some of their first names are nicknames, so don’t go getting all confused on me. And of course, there are those who I am just now getting to know. I also realize I probably left out a few people, but it’s not because I don’t love them. It’s because I am me and you all know how my brain works by now - excitable little puppy one minute, raging hormonal beast the next. And I’m flighty once in a while. I blame it on the fact that I’m raising teenagers and they eat up all my good brain cells. Teens are nothing if they aren’t good at running their Mama ragged.
The truth of the matter is this: If you take time out of your day to read my drivel, send me a sweet message, visit my blog, or just think of me in general, I consider you to be one of my lovies.
Wolfie: That is a lot of wonderful people right there and No worries baby, I’ll leave the horn tootin to the experts…. lol , I actually do remember the convo…. Speaking of which …..
What is your favorite song of the moment ?
Shannon: That list of people… Well, they toot my horn every damn day. They are a constant source of inspiration, support and love. I’ll check around and see if any of them would like to toot your horn for you. I’m sure Monkey wouldn’t mind. *laughs* Wait. Would that make me a pimp? Wolfie, I hereby demand ten percent of all horn tooting. Don’t make me bust a cap. Ugh.. you know what? I don’t make a good pimp, nor a decent gangster. Just give me the ten percent and we’ll pretend I never said any of that.
I’ve had a bunch of songs on repeat lately, but Lana Del Rey’s Young and Beautiful plays the most.
Wolfie: Somehow pimping the monkey just doesn’t seem right….. We are all friends here and gladly toot, rub, knead and spank each other…. Or so the Wolfie rumor goes.
I will have to take a good listen and see just where you are today.
Shannon: Pimping the monkey is always right, and spanking it. It’s just the right thing to do, man.
Wolfie: lol and on that note…
In a thousand words or less I want you to tell us about your book that you have published and the inspiration behind it. Are you ready? Okay go….
Shannon: Ahhh, shameless self-promotion time! I only get a thousand words? Hmmm… Well, does “The book is horny and I was horny when I wrote it.” work?
In all seriousness, the book (Faraway Midnights) is a collection of sensual poetry and erotic prose. It starts off with a hot little number to get your motor running, and then it lets you breathe a bit with some poetry. The whole book is designed that way. I figure it gives the reader a chance to rub one out before starting the next story. (sheesh… I’m worse than the boys lol) Anyway, it’s written from a woman’s perspective and there is some truth behind some of it, but I’ll never tell which is which. It’s best to let the readers play with their own imaginations, among other things. The inspiration behind it? Hormones. I’m not shitting you, sweetheart. Nothing. But. Hormones. I’m in my prime - it’s gonna happen.
My other book (Petals of Promise) was put together right after I released Faraway Midnights to the public. Some close friends suggested that I release a non-erotic book for the folks who aren’t interested in that sort of thing. It’s filled with poetry and prose that I hope will inspire, or find readers that may have some common ground. Some of it is heartbreaking (I cried three times while putting it together, Mommy cried all the way through it), some of it is uplifting and some of it is just stuff I’ve experienced in my own day to day existence. The inspiration behind that one is the fact that someone, somewhere, is going through the same exact things I am. We can relate to one another. Why not compare notes on the whole ordeal of living? After all, in order to get through all the muck and mud of life, it’s best to use the Buddy System.
Wolfie: I think I’m going to not even try to count how many words you used and we here at breakingdownthetwcwall love being able to help promote writers and their books.
We wish you the best of luck with the sales.
Shannon: Thank you, Wolfie. If it weren’t for you lovies here, it wouldn’t even exist. *snuggles*
Wolfie: So …. Let’s jump into a quick q&a and see if any or all of them relate to you in any way.
Wolfie: noodles or grain?
Shannon: Whole grain noodles.
Wolfie: hardwood or carpet?
Shannon: A bit of both.
Wolfie: silk or cotton?
Shannon: Depends on my bedtime.
Wolfie: merge or yield?
Shannon: Merge. Always.
Wolfie: rocks or clean?
Shannon: Rocks. Definitely rocks.
Wolfie: I wasn’t sure how
toes those questions would relate but now I see that the answers bring much sense.
Shannon: I know *toes* is a typo, but I’m having a Dori moment. Roll with me, Wolfie, I have a story about toes… When I was fifteen or so, Mommy told me I had perfect, little, princess feet. From the time I learned to do it myself, I’ve always kept my toes well-manicured and painted, even in the winter, because I love being such a girlie-girl - even when I broke one whole side of my foot three years ago, I still kept them nice. Well, you might recall my post a few months ago about me breaking my baby toe (twice, over the course of three days). A couple of weeks ago, that baby nail finally fell off, and here I sit with nine painted toenails and a nub with only skin. I’m upset about this. Granted, having just a nub with skin is far better than a bruised up nail, but part of me feels as if I fell off my throne. I am Cinderella no more, and I have a floor to go scrub. By the way, should I paint the skin? Or would it look goofy? Would people notice there was no nail there? Or should I just chop off the entire toe and pretend I never had one?
Wolfie: hahaha … I spend half of my time working on the interviews by fixing my typos…. I recommend tatting the skin but then that requires matching … kisses… you be queen now baby
Shannon: *twirls so pretty* I’m a queen now, y’all. Wolfie said so. Also, I shall run to the nearest podiatrist, have all my toenails yanked, and then go get twenty new tattoos. I’m thinking itty-bitty flowers. I would have such a lovely bouquet! *eep!*
Wolfie: oh the imagery……
Okay beautiful, we are at the point in the interview where I ask you to share some words.
Shannon: Noooooooooo! *cries and breaks stuff*
Wolfie: Can you leave our readers, new writers and veteran writers some inspiring words, tender words of affection or even a rant?
Shannon: I will never be able to thank my readers enough - they are what keep my blog alive. I will never be able to thank the veteran writers enough, either, for they are the ones who took me under their wing, guided me through Tumblrland, and taught me how to truly open up my voice - they are the ones who said it was okay to be me. *sniffles* I love you guys and gals.
For the new writers: A wise man once said Dig It. He also said that in order for you to Dig It, you must first Dig Yourself. Listen to him. I know it can be terrifying here and I know how unsure you are about every little line you post, but you’re okay. Also, don’t forget the fact that the veteran writers were once in your shoes. If no one else gets it, they most certainly do. Never be afraid to invade their inboxes to ask for advice, or to just say Hello. Never be trapped so tight by your own fear that you forget we’re all in this together, every single last one of us.
Wolfie: Those are some wonderful words and certainly some to take to heart.
Before I ask for my pants back… I will ask you to name a few blogs you try to visit every day. Who are those lucky ones that you need to read every day?
Shannon: Even if you ask nicely, I’m keeping them as a souvenir. Sorry about your luck. I’ll knit you some new ones.
Oh goodness… asking me to list blogs seems like one of those Anonymous plots to see if you made the cut, Wolfie. I am so disappointed. *hhmmpphh*
I try my best to show my lovies love every day. Remember the list of people up there? Yeah… Them. They are super talented writers, excellent friends, a steady support system, and they make for lots of giggles when the chips are down. I would definitely recommend them to any new writer/reader out there in Tumblrland. And, get this: They don’t bite! Well, not too hard, anyway; depends on their moods and yours.
Wolfie: Thank you Shannon for taking the time to answer questions for breakingdownthetwcwall . We certainly appreciate you as we do all our readers, participants and followers.
Shannon: Thank you for having me, Wolfie. I enjoyed every titillating moment of it. Love ya, sweetheart! <3
Sweet source of my comfort
A soul wrapped in skin
Pink and white
Dressed in silver
It lies there quiet, alone
Bring it here to its eternal home
The clock reads four minutes
- a new machine, a great day for freedom
in the empty spaces of young lust
that lives poles apart, but not obscured by clouds
What shall we do now
when the wind blows across thin ice in sweet July?
Should we take it back one slip
- telling a lie for a lie with our paranoid eyes?
And what about your impossible pasts
- the unknown song, the seabirds who run like hell,
the raving and drooling, and the reaching for the rail?
It would be so nice to be marooned
sunny-side-up, on the dark side of the moon
near the end of the Milky Way in the terminal frost
Us - you and I, two of a kind
- burning bridges of celestial voices,
the echoes of radio waves,
a riot scene in San Tropez,
the reemergence of fearless, slow blues
Yet, until we sleep, the two suns in the sunset
will remain comfortably numb
and there’s no way out of here
except by way of three wishes and a trial by puppets
for, the red queen and the scarecrow
both remember a day inside Jupiter’s eye
- the sorrow, the soundscape
the end of the beginning and the final cut
But, we are learning to fly on the run
and one of these days
an opening speech outside the wall
of our own dark, twisted nightmares
will come to make perfect sense
and the colors of infinity - any color you like
will become a pillow of winds
coming back to life amid the corrosion
of the best years of our lives
So we’ll just keep talking to the labyrinth
-stoned again, until the last few bricks of time
take their lucky leave across the universe
- an eclipse in the eyes of a gypsy
All that’s missing from tonight’s scenario is someone’s chest to bury myself into when the lightning strikes.
I feel too much
I think too much
I say too much
Maybe that’s the problem
Me: *sigh* I’m exhausted today.
Me: Nightmares make for shit sleep, Doc.
Her: You have nightmares quite often, I’ve noticed.
Her: Would you care to talk about them?
Her: Why not?
Me: *shrugs* Talking about them won’t make them stop.
Her: It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?
Her: I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me… about anything, you know.
Me: Maybe I don’t want your damn help.
Her: Or maybe you just think you don’t.
Me: And maybe I think you get paid big bucks to listen no better than my pet hamster could.
Her: Or, maybe, just maybe, when I send my monthly report to the judge, I could include the fact that you flat out refuse to tell me anything. And maybe, when the judge reads it, he will have no problem revoking whatever privilege he’s given you.
Me: *chuckles* Is that supposed to be a threat?
Her: Actually, it’s a promise. That’s the way this works. You either get the help you need, or you go right back to that six-by-nine cell.
Me: Three hots and a cot. What is there not to love?
Her: You would rather rot in a cold cell, than have a shot at enjoying life and being free to pursue whatever interests you?
Me: Out here or in there, it’s all the same, really.
Her: What makes it the same?
Me: Enjoy life and be free? Doc, listen, I will never have the freedom to enjoy life. I gave up that dream a long damn time ago and the sooner you realize that about me, the sooner we can just get on with it.
Her: What made you give up?
Me: The bullshit? The fucking grind? The trying to be normal when I know I never will be? Life itself? Take your pick.
Her: Life itself. How did life make you give up?
Me: How didn’t it? You’ve read my files, Doc. You already know the jig.
Her: *sigh* Your files only tell me how you reacted to life. They tell me nothing about the reasons why. That’s your job.
Me: What if I don’t know the reasons why?
Her: I’m not buying it. You’re a very clever girl and you know how the world turns. You know damn good and well the reasons why.
Me: Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Either way, I don’t feel like telling you.
Her: Why not?
Me: What the hell is with you and always asking me Why not? Maybe I just don’t want to fucking tell you. God damn it! You’re fucking irritating!
Her: Tell me about the nightmares.
Me: What part do you want to know? You want to know about how I’ve had them since I was three? You want to know how there is never any change of scenery in them besides the person on the other side? You want to know how I wake up every hour on the hour, drenched in sweat with my heart racing as I fumble around in the dark to make sure I’m still in my fucking bedroom? You want to know about the thirst I feel when I realize I’m still at home? Or, should I tell you that it was YOU in my nightmare last night, Doc? You want to hear that shit?
Her: All of it. I want to know all of it.
Me: *glances at clock* Time’s up, Doc. Gotta go live life now, apparently. Good talk.
Her: Yeah. Real good talk. See you soon.
Me: Eh… I’ll see you tonight. *laughs*
Her: In your nightmares?
Me: With any luck, that’s the only place I’ll see you.
Her: *note to self* I have no clue what just happened.
When I turn thirty-five next month, I will be thirty-five for the rest of my days.
His Dark Sutra: Collision (a poem)
Synaptic nerves -
Cold water -
upon cheeks, splashed.
(I sit on the edge of my bed)
Wake up and consider
despite a dagger
What is this thing?
(a knife, a blade, your love-turned hate)
trapped beneath the dermis draped folds of my chest skin.
As if a buried template,
a bladed thorn,
at which I stare with gritted teeth.
into my heart
(during a silent moment
when I was weak).
I turned my back -
My world became bleak, cold,
painted like a canvas dabbed in charcoal black-ash.
You are the blade,
buried unto the hilt
Causing a cessation of breath,
No death, no -
I’m not ready, not yet…
like blood flows,
as love grows.
A heart once captivated,
sullied and thrown out -
Our love (was)
A blissful //collision//,
Before the pained excision-extraction when attraction and bliss (remember our moonlit kiss?) changed
and we became
And the same-love-game
drove us apart.
Now I sit (on the edge of my bed) looking at the knife
buried to the hilt
inside my heart.
There isn’t a single thing this guy can’t write. I am honored and quite speechless.
Thank you. <3
ultra-vainglorious long mushy ode (thanks TWC for the past six months)
quiet heart bombing isn’t the only tingle
I get from tumbling the day away
she often strikes all at once
overwhelming and embracing
then spreading love
there are many here
in this creative writing community
too many to mention, thousands really
that are reaching out
that should be admired
the lupine and the leo
both strong yet gentle
to hold and poke, help and stroke
making me feel welcome and warm
the rehab artist who first found me
lifting me into a world
of gritty, brash, sexy art
and I cannot but admire with mouth agape
every word he writes
the gentle silly beard
who guided me early on
and nudged me into interaction
with wit and laughter
and rhyme and love
the rebloggers who give so much of themselves
the magic eye and the sluts
the cute Aussie
amazing how much they consume
amazing how much they share
the strong women I’ve found
the fox, the mama, the mermaid, the llama, the mercy
all so different yet exactly the same
where it matters most
and we revel in each other
there’s so much that draws me here each day
as I explore spoken word in the cellar
as I discover a yen for metaphors
as I see doodles and nature
paired with words and want to try it myself
such caring from kittens
such blatant wit from simians
such rabble rousing dromers
such prosey pontificating from the boy downtown
along with nutty notes and jarringly smooth photos
the sensualists and the seekers
the almost silent thoughts
the artists who cannot be pigeonholed
the ones who remind we’re all sad and silly
I am so thankful to be here too
yeah, yeah, yeah this may seem pretentious twaddle
but is written from the heart nonetheless
as I feel truly thankful for the past six months or so
of creative sharing like I’ve never seen before
and I’m not sure how else to say thank you
His fragrance fills my dreams
- the flavor of cool confidence
laced with hesitancy and doubt
and as I breathe him in easily
I make a wish for knowledge
- for him to know it is his hands
I desire the most
in whatever capacity he might
decide to mark me with
- whether it be raised, pink welts
detailing carnality across my bottom
or the perfect outline of tender fingers
left wrapped around my neck
and when I wake
I wish to find my own knowledge
as I look into the mirror
- to know I belong to him
False Bravado Part 2
Me: Let’s just get this over with, okay? I’ve got shit to do.
Her: Why do you insist on hurrying?
Me: I’m not. I just have shit to do.
Her: Like what?
Me: I don’t know. Just stuff, alright?
Me: Look, the sooner you tell me who you think I am, the sooner you can move on to your next victim, Doc.
Her: That’s not my job.
Me: Like hell it ain’t.
Her: My job is to guide you toward acceptance of what you already know to be true.
Me: Fine then. I accept that I’m a big, puffy marshmallow. Can I go now?
Her: It’s not that easy. And I don’t believe you.
Me: You said I have to accept who I am. I accepted it. Congrats, Doc. You cured me.
Her: *sigh* Do you accept the hurt? Can you wrestle with the pain, pin it to the mat and be proud to be declared the winner?
Me: What fucking pain?
Her: You know exactly what I’m talking about.
Me: *smirks* If I knew, Doc, I wouldn’t be here.
Her: Why don’t you ever talk about Him?
Me: Him? Who the fuck is Him?
Her: Did I hit a nerve?
Me: *lights a cigarette*
Her: You can’t smoke in here.
Me: Watch me.
Me: You wanna talk about Devon? Fine. We dated. We broke up. The end.
Her: Again, I don’t believe you.
Me: Jesus fucking Mary, lady. *laughs*
Her: You’re an open book for the most part, except for this one tiny chapter you’ve completely closed off. Why?
Me: Because there isn’t much to say about it!
Her: In my experience, people say there isn’t much to say when there’s a whole lot to say.
Me: Your experience is shit, then.
Her: He cut you real deep, didn’t he?
Me: *rolls eyes*
Her: So deep, in fact, that nearly twenty years later, you haven’t even begun to close the wound.
Me: *mimics* So deep, in fact… *scoots nose-to-nose* Look, lady. You don’t know a god damned thing about my wounds or how deep the blood runs, so you can just shut the fuck up about it.
Her: *icy glare* The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Now get the fuck out of my office.
Me: *salutes* Aye, aye, Cap’n.
Her: See you next week. And try not to forget.
Me: How can I forget? You won’t fucking let me. *slams door*
Her: *note to self* Tough case to crack, but I can see the faultline.
Acid rain, honeyed in hue
blistering and corrosive
and unaware of any harm
brought to the host via
blinding voids resting within
- but I wonder
if it burns your finger
the same way
it burns my soul
What right do I have
to feel the pain from the fever
of your magic touch -
when all I want to do is tell you
to kiss your past goodbye?
But it ain’t enough to chip away the stone
that’s trapped in your flesh
- jaded, but beyond beautiful
Think about it
- the sleepy sickness between friends and lovers
the deadly combination, the circle jerk
and how it all comes full circle
in front of a hangman jury
- we drink the bitch’s brew,
we bite the hand that feeds the flight of the phoenix
and when lightning strikes, we line up our nine lives
to perform the same old song and dance
Maybe my level of crazy
has finally reached critical mass
but, baby, I don’t want to miss a thing
when you just push play
and let the music do the talking
- let it slide under my skin
and show me your Sedona sunrise
- let me be your oasis in the night
when you’re tired of walking the one-way-street
that leaves you to crash and burn
inside the grind head first
Do you think we could
fly away from here atop the wings of Joanie’s butterfly
- live like kings and queens
up on the mountain like toys in the attic?
And answer me this -
have you never loved a girl who wears gypsy boots
to kick open Pandora’s Box?