This blog has been a labor of love, a way for each of us to include the practice of writing into our lives. We kept it going through the challenges of everyday life with an extra helping of pandemic. For over three years, we posted every Monday (more or less), trading weeks with each other to keep content up. We experimented with style, genre, form. I, IO, am proud of the writing we put up on this blog. This platform is way to escape the confines of perfection, to let ourselves learn out in public. It has been a good run, and we may pick it back up again. For now though, we need a break.
We’ll be thinking about the future of this blog and our writing in the upcoming two to three months.
Thank you to all those who read and commented, liked and shared. This collection of scribbles and polished pieces has always been for us, so we appreciate that some of it has been a positive presence in your lives.
She watched as the comet streaked across the sky leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It was so close you could hear it as it tore through the atmosphere, the sizzling of space remnants interacting with oxygen creating an ammonatic smell that stung her nose.
Running to the garage, she grabbed her bike and followed its lead toward Hevor Field. It disappeared from her view moments before she felt the impact under the wheels of her bike. The tremor caused her to lose control and run smack into a tree. By this time it seemed as if the whole town was headed in the direction of the crash and the stampede that was behind her was getting bigger.
She left her bike where it was and ran the rest of the way. Arriving at Hevor Field breathless, she wearily walked the edge of the field scoping out the situation.
The buzz around the crater got louder and louder, until you couldn’t heat the sizzling anymore. She thought the comet would look more like a huge rock, a smaller version of the moon maybe – but this crater looked futuristic. Beyond anything she’d ever seen in a movie. The outside was covered in this smooth steel like material.
Could it be steel? She thought.
It came from space. There is steel in space?
The light reflected off the object causing some to turn their face from its brightness.
From the back of the crowd a rock flew through the air and was completely obliterated before it even touched the sphere. Dust particles floated in the air.
There was a collective hush that fell over the crowd.
Slowly and without a sound, the top started to slide back letting a bright light pierce through the straight to the sky.
In unison the crowd turned its face towards the sky. There was no end to the light in sight.
One by one, beings stepped out. Not like the ones she’s seen in science fiction movies. There were some similarities and differences at the same time.
They seemed unimpressed with what they saw in us, while we were on edge. Was this the end? Did they come to destroy us? The citizens of Roaun were frozen with fear.
There was a collective moment of silence as we observed them, and they observed us.
Finally, one of them spoke.
Unable to understand, we stayed silent. Some of the elders could be seen slowly backing up to the further edges of the crowd.
IT pushed a button on the side of its neck. That’s when they noticed all of them had silver nodules going in a circle around their necks.
IT spoke again.
IT quickly went through four more nodules before English could be heard coming out of its mouth.
There was a buzz amongst the crowd. Mr. Morrenstine, the unofficial official Mayor of Roaun, raised his cane in the air.
He stepped forward, past the actual Mayor, and stood face to face with the beings.
Before he could speak, IT raised its hand and a stillness came over the air. Literally, nothing moved. The birds froze mid flight. Trees paused.
“This language is primitive. It died off light years ago. We came in search of advancement. There is none here.”
And with that, they all turned to walk back in the sphere. In the blink of an eye, the sphere vanished.
Amaryllis in red and white a special treat for me Bananas not quite ripe Coffee, the Texas Pecan from H.E.B Dental floss in mint Eggs, even though there almost five dollars a dozen Fries, Ore Ida Golden Crinkle Cut Grapes, red seedless, 2lb Holiday socks discounted and found at the end of the aisle. Ibuprofen for the headache I’m sure to get after spending time with you tonight. Jif Crunchy Peanut Butter Kraft Mac and Cheese – the original – two boxes Listerine the original brown kind to kill everything left over in my mouth from you. Milk for cereal and to make the mac and cheese creamier. Napkins to clean the mess you are sure to make. Orange Juice with pulp because you hate it. Pot Stickers made fresh today, great with a salad for my dinner. Quacker Oats – don’t judge. Ritz Crackers – the only cracker Salted sunflower seeds to go with the bananas. Turkey Cranberry Salad made fresh today to go with the Ritz. Ube – 4 – to try that cookie recipe I won’t be sharing. Vanilla for the cookies Watermelon Juice because you like kid’s drinks X – not on the list Yogurt – Noosa – strawberry rhubarb Zoodles
The metal rowboat begins to swing like a pendulum, gaining velocity as the ends reach their zeniths. It’s a never-ending carnival ride, pushing the torsos of its occupants back into their seats and then forward into the steal bar across their waists.
From the front to the back, riders watch the sky and ground advance and retreat. They let out primal sounds from deep in their guts and throw their arms up as they fall. Sitting in the middle seat of the middle row, a young woman keeps her eyes and mouth closed, fingers clasped around the restraint bar. She feels the wind pick up, push the curls from her face, listens to the screams of fear and excitement emitting from those around her. The shifting gravity disturbs her stomach, an unsubtle lifting and falling of her organs behind her ribs.
The serenity of sensation, of deep breaths, of fast air, persist past any perception of time. She does not count the inhales, nor the exhales. Just focuses on the air passing through her until she notices the screams have stopped. The boat continues to swing, almost flipping over itself as it extends its terminal points. She opens her eyes and knows it’s a mistake. There are no people, not in the boat and not on the ground. There is no ground. No sky either. Just her, alone on a carnival ride boat, swinging through the void.
I see miles of grass and trees. There are hills in the distance, too. Upon closer inspection, yellow and red flowers sprinkle the lawn before me. I don’t know this place and yet I feel at home here. Like I’ve sat in this paradise before. It’s quiet, except for the occasional chirp above me. Blue and yellow birds pass from tree to tree in an endless exchange. My feet feel… nothing. Where are my feet? I look down to find more earth. No body to attach to my thoughts. But I can see and hear. And sort of feel. This isn’t me. I usually have more limbs than this, I think. I try to walk for the first time since realizing I’m here. No, I can’t move. How can I feel, see, hear, think, and not move. This meadow seems so familiar, but I don’t know why I’m here or how I even got here. I close what I think are my eyes and try to focus what I assume is my mind on a time before this place. Before I could see miles of grass, flowers, and trees. All I find is darkness. Before being here, I was somewhere dark and cramped. This is all I know. And even though I can’t move and all I know if what I can see and hear, I’m at peace. This is a wondrous place to be.
Snuggled in her nook, obscured by the curtains she pulled her notebook out. She took note of yesterday’s observations before grabbing her binoculars.
6:05 a.m. – Mr. Hadderson stepped out for his usual morning smoke. He smokes for approximately three minutes, before stubbing the cigarette out on his slippers.
6:11 a.m. – Mr. and Mrs. Morley step out of their front door in matching running shorts. Today’s color is a bright green. Mrs. Morley has a pair of black tights with matching green strips running up the sides under her shorts.
She takes a minute to check the weather. A balmy 58. Wise choice Mrs. Morley, if they stuck to their Wednesday route they would run by the river which gets pretty chilly this time of year.
Slowly the sun began to rise, and the rest of the neighborhood began to awaken.
She scribbled the comings and goings, taking time to make note of the new observations. For example, the Hurley’s left late today and not the typical 5-10 minutes late. They were still inside when the Morley’s returned from their run. A 43 minute 22 second 5 mile through the subdivision.
Mr. Hurley ran the winter hockey league, and the whole family left the house no later than 6:30 a.m every Saturday. Today, they left at 7:45 a.m. and Mrs. Hurley didn’t go with them. She was the League Mother and ran everything in the front office.
That was an oddity she would take note of. And did.
Around 8 a.m., 8:07 to be precise, she unwound from the nook and walked over to feed her dog.
“Good Morning Ramses, did you have a pleasant night?” she asked while filling his water bowl. Ramses responded with a yawn and stretch.
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I will get down there with you in a downward dog while my coffee is brewing” she said. Ramses just cocked his head to the side in anticipation of his breakfast.
After participating in her usual morning routine, she got dressed for the day. Saturday was flea market day, and she had a list of new ones she wanted to check out in the neighboring town.
With her observation journal in hand, she grabbed Ramses leash and her car keys.
They spent the day wander through aisles of antiques, tasting homemade treats, and making new observations. The day was filled with so many new sights she had forgotten about her observations from that morning until she turned into her Cul de Sac. The silent flashing red lights from the ambulance jarred her sense of awareness.
Dazed she checked to make sure she had indeed turned onto her street.
Collingham St.
Yes, she was on her street.
From the passenger seat Ramses started to whine as if he,too, could sense something was afoot. She leaned over to soothe him, while slowly creeping down the street.
There was an ambulance and three police cars parked across the street from her house, but she couldn’t tell which house they were actually for.
The last time there was an ambulance in River Village was almost four years ago when the Hadderson boy fell out of their cherry tree. The community was ridiculously safe and predictable.
Just as she pulled her into her driveway, she could see the door from the Hurley house open in her rear view. She watched in utter shock as the officers led Mrs. Morley out of the house followed by an obviously distraught Mr. Hurley.
The Hurley children huddle around Mr. Morley as they watched their father being led away in handcuffs. The older children were stoic, while the younger children were crying and calling for their father.
The sound of her car hitting her garage door turned everyone’s attention to her. Sheepishly she stepped from the car and hurried inside practically dragged Ramses behind her.
Inside, she hurried to her nook with her journal. This was the most exciting thing to happen ever!
Author’s Note: I loved Harriet the Spy as a child. For a summer, I did try to be the spy of my neighborhood. It didn’t work out.
We’ve been gone the last two weeks – and it’s MY fault. I have been lagging on getting this post up, but it’s the first Monday of the year and I promise to do better.
Every year at this time I do a list of my top reads, this year is no exception. Looking back a few things were brought to my attention: I read a great deal of poetry, did a lot of re-reading of my favorite books, and read the least number of new books since 2013.
Here are my top 20 books this year so far:
The Collection Plate: Poems – Kendra Allen
Blacke Girl, Call Home – Jasmine Mans
Toni Morrison’s Spiritual Vision: Faith, Folktales, and Feminism in Her life and Literature – Nedra Nittle
Corazon – Yesika Salgado
A Psalm for the Wild- Built (Monk & Robot, #1) – Becky Chambers
Bad Fat Black Girl: Notes from a Trap Feminist – Sesali Bowen
Radical Friendship: Seven Ways to Love Yourself and Find Your People in an Unjust World – Kate Johnson
Sisters of the Vast Black (Our Lady of Endless Worlds, #1) – Lina Rather
Magical Negro – Morgan Parker
Generations: A Memoir – Lucille Clifton
Soldier: A Poet’s Childhood – June Jordan
Make Me Rain: Poems & Prose – Nikki Giovanni
The Memory Librarian: And Other Stories of Dirty computer – Janelle Monae
Don’t Call Us Dead – Danez Smith
The Carrying: Poems – Ada Limon
The Hurting Kind: Poems – Ada Limon
The Book of Delights: Essays – Ross Gay
The Hidden Girl and Other Stories – Ken Liu
At Night All Blood is Black – David Diop
The Invisible Kingdom: Reimagining Chronic Illness – Meghan O’Rourke
I usually don’t do a yearly book list. I don’t usually read that many and truthfully, this year isn’t that different. But as of this semester, I am done with my graduate program and looking forward to indulging in reading whatever I want, whenever I want. (Outside of work hours, of course). This book list is a starting point. Despite classes, job changes, and general life events, I was able to read more books for fun this year than I thought. I looked back at previous reading challenges and saw that I once set a goal for 50 books in a year and beat it. I want to be a reader again. As motivation for myself, here’s some of the books I read this year and a brief review.
Sula by Toni Morrison
Honestly, I need to read this again. I listened to the audiobook during work and lost the thread enough that parts of the story were confusing to me. I’ve found it challenging to focus on narrative fiction in audio format. What I do recall of the story was a tale of a “difficult” woman and the challenge of being different in society.
There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra by Chinua Achebe
I’ve tried to learn more about Nigeria and its history on my own. My interest in the story of Biafra first came from the novel Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and the realization that this horrendous civil war had greatly affected the region my family is from and during my father’s lifetime. This is indeed a personal history, a memoir that encompasses the civil war. It does not start or end there. I liked that Achebe gave some perspective to Nigerian society and politics before the war started. I would not count this as a definitive history of the era though it has inspired me to seek more sources about this event.
The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi
How dare they write something so beautiful and sad. How. dare. they. Another great novel by Emezi portraying complex characters at the intersection of queerness, expatriation, parenthood, and mourning in contemporary Nigeria.
Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe
Yup, I read the most banned book in the USA. It’s not nearly as graphic as conservative censors would have you believe. If you’ve ever watch a cable primetime drama, you’ve seen more nudity and sex than is in this book.
I actually felt the ending was kind of abrupt. Maybe that was the point. I expected more panels but it was just over, right when the protagonist was figuring out their identity. Like a part 1 of a memoir.
This is by no means a universal story of gender non-binary people. It’s still important an important story. I hope to read more by them and other non-binary and trans writers.
Long Division by Kiese Laymon
This book is best read in print. Usually, I don’t like to be a prescriptionist about formats. In this case, the format does contribute to the experience. It consists of two “books”. After getting to the end of book 1, which is about halfway through the physical bound copy, you have to turn the book over and flip it upside down to read book 2. And the stories seem only tangentially related. The first book ending doesn’t quite make sense and then you’re thrown into a different tale but with names you recognize from the first. And then you get to the end of book 2 and there’s a kind of “oh!” moment of realization. I would read this book again just so I could see all the details that link the two, that I didn’t know to look for on the first reading.
I’m ending my review here, even though that’s about a third of what I’ve read this year. I wrote more than I thought and it’s late. And I’m in the mood to read.
I’m grateful for this blog because it makes me write and research and create. It forces me to do the thing that I say I like to do. Thank you, Biskits n Gravy! Now, follow me along as I try a world building questionnaire for Terra Spirit, the fictional world my protagonist is obsessed with and soon learns is real as hell. In my draft, Olivia is a fan of the book and film and has even started a small business creating cosplay masks and accessories. Through her fandom and the loss of her mentor, Olivia discovers Terra Spirit is based on truth and that she is directly linked to the story. Once I wrote this fun plot point, I had the realization: I will need to write a story so that I can write my story. Double homework. There are far more questions to do, but this is what I have so far.
If you could compare the era of your story to one on earth, when would it be? In the present? In the past? In the future? Past. The Terrans lived in Mesoamerica in pre-Columbian times.
Location
What is the setting of your world? Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica.
Does it take place in a parallel universe? No, it’s our universe.
Is it on another earth-like planet? Yeah, Earth.
Does it occur in another dimension? No, but maybe I should take this into consideration!
Population
Who lives in your world? Are they humans, aliens, animals, insects, hybrids, monsters? Yes, all humans and animals exist. Humans are very in tune with nature.
What is the population? Good question that I don’t have an answer to.
Are there multiple races? No, the Terrans were all indigenous, but as time passes and more people come to the area, the Terrans will meet other races.
Is there tension between the races? The white Spaniards will challenge their faith and practices.
What distinguishes the races?
Where do they live? Do they live in small villages or large cities? I envision smaller villages.
What type of living arrangements do they have? Do they live in houses? Tents? Communes? The Mayans lived in houses made of mud and stone walls with thatched roofs, a roof with dry vegetation.
I glanced up long enough to step off the escalator safely before I continued to mindlessly follow the crowd through the tunnel. Ironically enough, for someone with a disdain for Vegas this was my 5th layover in McCarran International Airport this year.
Haphazardly scrolling through my social media, I broke off from the larger group and continued to migrate with a small group towards the train for Terminal D. I was catching an early flight back to Houston, and the airport was slightly deserted. A change of pace from the hustle I usually experience in McCarran.
Beside me, there was a woman struggling with two children under the age of – what had to be 3 whilst her husband waltz along side her pushing an empty stroller. I said a silent prayer for her traveling grace and directed my attention back to my timeline.
As we collectively neared the train the pace of the group slowed considerably. Okay HERE is the crowd that been missing, I thought.
I looked up to see two small groups to the left and right of me. To the left there were doors for a train with a sign that said, “Gates D ….”
Hmmm, that’s odd. There was no estimated time of arrival for the train.
To my right above the doors to the train the sign read, “Gates D – A …. Arriving in 3 minutes … V”. The confusion could be seen across the faces in the crowd. The phrasing was odd. D – A? V? I was flying domestically. What did that V mean? 5? I racked my brain trying to recall if I had seen that phrasing in any other airport. I could not.
There was a subtle collective swaying in the crowd as passengers tried deciding which direction to go. Typical of me, my flight was leaving soon, and I did not have the luxury of waiting to see when the other train was arriving. With purpose in my steps, I made my way to the right side and waited for the train to arrive.
I stepped onto the empty train as it arrived along with the father I walked past earlier. His wife was still trailing behind him with their two toddlers. As the doors were closing, he casually yelled out “I’ll see you guys at the gate”.
What a fucking jerk, I thought.
My sentiment was echoed across his wife’s face as the doors closed.
Leaning against the rail, I turned my attention back to my timeline to continue mindlessly scrolling. There was sharp turn and loud noise as we went through a tunnel – “oh shit, please don’t let this train stop in this tunnel” I silently prayed.
As the train slowed to a stop, I stepped out on autopilot almost as soon as the doors opened. My departure was halted by the passenger in front of me.
“My bad”, I said as I practically ran up the back of their shoes.
I looked up to make sure my apology was received when I noticed the purple sky.
Why am I seeing the sky? Why is it purple? I thought. I had taken an edible before leaving this morning, but it was only 25mg. See, this is why I usually stick to flower. Edibles will have you tripping in public.
It was one of those moments where your brain knows it’s seeing something it shouldn’t, but your processing time is lagged by the oddity itself.
I was inside of an airport and should not be seeing an open sky. Let alone one that was purple. That much I knew. I glanced around at the few passengers that had board the train with me, and the looks on their faces let me know I was not alone on this trip. Literally and figuratively.
I turned around to look at the train that delivered us here, and I caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared back into the tunnel.
The sign on the back of the train read, “Gates D – A : …. Veriterian”
“Veriterian? Where TF is that?” I yelled out loud.
At my announcement, my fellow passengers turned to see that last of the train as it rode off into the dark tunnel.
Author’s Note:
In my usual fashion, I “pants” this post versus “plotting” it. Meaning, its extremely RAW.
Last month, I was in McCarran airport and as I was walking to the train for Gates D there were two trains. One of the signs was misleading, and almost instantly this story started to form in my mind. It’s giving a bit of Harry Potter Platform 9 ¾ with a mix of La Brea. The possibilities are endless with this story, but I CAN NOT start another writing project until I complete the illustrations for #NightwatcherOfKweensPort
biSKITs & gravy 