Hey, check out my fiction piece, ” Then There Was That Time with The Elephant,” recently published in Drunk Monkeys magazine.
So that publisher rejected my ms. Not altogether surprising, I know. But, eh, it’s okay; it was rad that they even asked to read it….Also, I’ve already sent a query to another one. (I got a list a mile long! The industry will be so sick of my name after I’m through with it! HA.)
Anyway.
The rejection doesn’t even bother me (though it sucked). I’m bothered by my own creative apathy. Not sure what’s going on, but I can’t and don’t want to write anything. Except I have tons of ideas. I just don’t want to write any of it because I think there isn’t any point; it’ll only come out like shit anyway. Stupid reason….The whole shebang is kind of like being stuck in a jail cell, except you’re not really stuck because the door’s wide-open, and you could escape if only you took a step.
But.
Reading all your stuff is rather inspiring. (Though, also more depressing because your stuff is helluva lot better than mine.) So, maybe I’ll try to write something. NaNoWriMo is coming up, too, and I’d really like to do it this year instead of making up grandiose excuses for why I can’t do it. What am I gonna do instead? Watch TV? Nothing good is on anymore…’cept “The Black List.” That show’s cool.
Also, I’ve been binge-Netflixing (that’s a fun word) “Luther.” Check that shit out. Now.
“Dear JCD Kerwin,
Thank you for sharing your query for [title of novel] with us. We would love to take a look at your manuscript….”
Shut the front door.
This is not [just] about childhood.
Peddling into Hurricanes
JCD Kerwin
At twelve,
you biked faster than
wind storms;
made twisters
turn up in your wake
you turned blacktop
into neverlands and
neverwases just because
you made believe
it was far from here
Now,
you’re made to think
you’re a fool ‘cos you
only want
to feel your heart
beat in your throat
again;
maybe feel the stars
again.
because you went to Jupiter,
once.
don’t ever let them tell you
it isn’t true;
that it was a game;
that it was all just
play, pretend…
I want to feel
that wind
again,
and scare them all
when i laugh
at hurricanes.
people should
run from
super storms, but i
want to make history
in rain clouds.
i want to hold my hands
high above handlebars
again;
make the wind
jealous of my might
again;
and hear the whole world
move.
Maybe i can believe,
(once again)
that having all these dreams
is still worth peddling
into hurricanes.
(January, 2014)
Yeah brah, I’m mad.
monsteROAR
JCD Kerwin
If you say this “dream” is “cute”
one more time,
I promise I
will bite your hand.
I will listen to
the voices
in my head
and snap,
claw,
howl,
like the snarling,
yipping monster in my head.
Think it’s all a game to me?
Hold out your hand;
I’ve got a shinning knife.
I love Roulette.
You think I wanted to
dump
all these bottles,
after bottles
of ink
into rivers;
crumple all the pages,
light them up,
watch them burn like
they were only meant
for kindling?
(Use your own damn bones;
they’re cold and brittle enough
to go
up in a snap.)
I drone enough
like a wind-up toy
(I’m sure of it),
but when you’re sure
it’s going to pour,
you tend to roar
like hurricanes.
I make ground shake
with my reverberating lexis;
I scream my voice into the earth
like its made of stone.
I’ll make my mark
like a cave painting—
you’ll hear me in
10,000 years,
singing like the buffalo.
Don’t think I won’t
carve myself
into your heart.
You’ll speak my words aloud but
the voice you’ll hear
is mine.
It’ll rumble like volcanoes;
I’ll shine through you
like a billion exploding stars.
Call me crazy, but
to kill my monsters
(to kill all your monsters)
I gotta stab this sword into
the gut of all Eternity.
And it all begins with you;
saving the world
begins with you.
(January, 2014)
J.C.D. KERWIN 