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This Square Peg.

Happily Not Fitting In Since 1978.

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issa new contribution.

Yep, I’m basically going to tell you every time a write-up that I contribute to The Maria Antoinette goes live. Because of my enduring love for your support of my writing efforts. And because this self-promotion-as-a-writer thing (which we will discuss later) is a new goal of mine, and unlike my goal to avoid bread, I’ll be sticking to this one.

The new post is here.

highfive

As always, feel free to comment, share, dance with me, whatever you like.

This writing journey continues…

Confetti Explosions and Things of that Nature.

It’s official.

Like really official.

I’ve been sitting on this news for a while until it was official official. And now…

drumroll

I was chosen as a guest contributor for The Maria Antoinette, a beauty/hair/lifestyle/fashion website.

!!!!

That in itself was amazing to be chosen. But even better?

My first contribution to the site is now live.

tina

The excitement and gratitude is real, you guys. This here blog fills me with joy, of course, as well as every single thing related to my writing, my creative works, everything. But to see my contribution up and to read my words…it’s both unreal and super cool.

Here’s the link to my piece: https://themariaantoinette.com/2017/06/29/cover-girl-no-more-four-reasons-i-wont-hide-my-bathing-suit-this-summer/

Read, comment, like, all those things. But above all: thank you for your support!

*cue confetti*

Oprah.

What an introduction. Let’s get right to it: when Her Excellency was was still on the air with her daily talk show, I won tickets to be part of her audience.

oprah1

Back in 2011, I remember going on the official website for the show and noticing one of the upcoming episodes. The theme of the impending show was going to be all about best friends. (Title: An Oprah & Gayle Kind of Friendship) Made sense, given the longtime friendship between Madame O and her bestie, Gayle King. The requirement to be part of the audience was to write and send in an essay about your best friend and why he/she was wonderful. That was a no-brainer. I’ve discussed my bestie on TSP more than once. She.Is.Everything. And so I got to writing. Looking back, I submitted the essay with only a small twinge of excitement, being that 1) I was probably 1 of a million people doing the same thing, and 2) I didn’t want that level of disappointment if I didn’t get chosen.

Then I received an email on March 23, 2011. Yes, I searched my inbox for that date. And yes, I’m giddy that the email still exists. Bottom line, the main idea of the email: my bestie and I were invited to join the audience during a taping of the themed episode.

I reacted a bit like this:

oprah2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So at this point, dear reader, my bestie didn’t know I had done any of this. I kept it all to myself in case we didn’t get chosen. Welp, that didn’t happen. After receiving that email, I called her and engaged in the following conversation:

Me: Hey, are you free on April 11?
Her: Let me check…yes, I’m free. What’s up?
Me: We’re flying to Chicago that day to be part of the audience of the Oprah show.
Her: *crickets*
Me: Are you there?
Her (whispers): This better not be a prank.
Me: It’s not! I wrote an essay and they picked it and it was about you and me and our friendship and we’re going to see Oprahhhhhhhhhh!

Her reactions, from 1-3:

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1
oprah4
2
oprah5
3

 

 

 

 

 

Needless to say, by the time we got to three, we were both primal screaming on the phone. Flight plans to Chicago were made; outfits were discussed (we had been asked by Queen O’s team to wear colorful clothes that would show well on TV); mild disappointment was expressed because a giant rule was that no pictures were allowed inside the Harpo studios; and finally, more primal screams were shared. You guys, it was one of the best experiences of this life. And you know how Empress Oprah’s audience would go mad? I admired her, yes, but I just couldn’t understand the mania oprah6these women showed on national TV. Well, I can easily say that on that morning in April, as Oprah was introduced and walked out and waved at us and smiled: I. Get. It. I truly do.

Her presence: dynamic. Her personality: open and charming. Her overall nature: amazing. In the minutes between her walking out and sitting down before the cameras turned on, there was no change. She was the same onscreen and off-screen. She was also just fun. During commercial breaks, she joked and laughed and told us about her painful high heels…it was surreal. My bestie and I spent the entire time just like holding each other in disbelief and Oprah-generated joy. And yeah, we got some gifts, too. And food. It was incredible. I’ll say it again, and in French: incroyable.

But the best part of that whole thrilling experience, dear reader? It involved a years-long, amazing friendship with one amazing lady, that being my bestie, and it involved another love of my life: my writing. My bestie kept saying the following throughout the day. “You are a writer. It was your words that got us here. You are a writer.” It was definitely a boost in confidence with the mighty pen. Nevertheless, the topic at hand, why this woman was such an indescribable presence in my life, made it easy. I didn’t hesitate. The benefits of a worthy subject.

Got any thrilling moments with your bestie that you’d like to share with me? Don’t fret because Oprah isn’t involved in any of them. The comments await you below…

National Poetry Month: Les Poèmes (#8,9,10)

The weekend ran away from me, as did poetry. But not for long. Apparently, my muse can’t abide by weekends. And yet she loves weekdays. What can you do? Speaking of her, below are my poetic offerings for Saturday, Sunday, and today. They share an interesting theme.

Weekend Haiku #1 (Saturday)

ah, what a weekend–
when i drink in all the sun
and forget to write.

Weekend Haiku #2 (Sunday)

it’s not an excuse
but my muse has attitude–
and off days, as well.

Monday Haiku (Today)

yet when Monday comes,
champagne and inspiration
all for This Square Peg.

National Poetry Month: Poème #7

Bon Friday, dear reader. Here’s a piece I wrote a few years ago after a pretty cathartic conversation with close friends. Because that’s how poetry functions for me: whereas fiction traverses the highways and byways of my imagination, poetry is every nuance and inch of the life I lead. Is that how it is for you? Let me know in the comments.

Breathless

You, with your half flesh, absent of your complement,

I would give you the exact latitude and longitude to get to me,

but I didn’t listen that day in class.

I have no mind for coordinates, I cannot bear giving directions.

Just wherever you are, traverse the highways and byways and miles

it will take to reach me, and come as soon as you can.

You will be guided by air and wheels, yes,

but also by softly uttered prayers feverishly whispered in the dead of night,

when the slow passing of minutes spent alone no longer wish to be abided.

Your arrival will not be met with waving palm fronds and outer garments spread on the road,

for I understand who my true Savior is,

but trust that you will meet a joy so acute that it will sound like the releasing of a

long-held–

tightly held–

quietly held–

breath.

National Poetry Month: Poème #6

As an author, her stories and essays have always thrilled me. But I’d like to discover her more as a poetess. Below is a powerful piece by Alice Walker. Enjoy this poetic Thursday, dear readers.

Be Nobody’s Darling
Alice Walker

Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap around
You like a shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Let them look askance at you
And you askance reply.
Be an outcast;
Be pleased to walk alone
(Uncool)
Or line the crowded
River beds
With other impetuous
Fools.

Make a merry gathering
On the bank
Where thousands perished
For brave hurt words
They said.

But be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Qualified to live
Among your dead.

National Poetry Month: Poème #5

Hi, Poetry Lover. Wanted to share a classic today. I fell in love with this piece in college after more than one poetry professor introduced me to the wonder and complexity of Theodore Roethke. Please read and enjoy.

In a Dark Time
Theodore Roethke

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood—
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks—is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is—
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

National Poetry Month: Poème #4

Day 4 of NPM. Happy happy. This piece was written by me. One of my personal favorites:

The Passage of Time

we’ve run out of conversation,

we’ve nothing left to say.

we cannot abide by talk of the

children, who now wrangle children

of their own, expecting us to play with and to give back, to babysit and to listen.

and what of those who bore us? how do we talk of what stabs us in our hearts, of nursing

homes and pain pills, of loss of strength and absence of memory?

we’ve run out of conversation,

we’ve nothing left to say.

we let them talk around us, about anniversaries and births, about time and trust, about how our

lengthy togetherness inspires, about leading by example.

they merely hear their own voices reverberating back to them.

not ours. we haven’t said a word.

and what would you say, if you could?

and what would i say, if i could?

crickets chirp.

the night wears on.

we’ve run out of conversation,

we’ve nothing left to say.

National Poetry Month: Poèmes #2&3

Happy NPM. Because I missed Sunday, here’s a piece for Sunday, written by me:

Learning, Gratitude
(Hindsight)

To you.
The heart should never be
so revealed, so unaware of where
the results will land.
No more waiting when the answers
are usually quite clearly there.
No matter if you were moved. Time to move on.
Thank you.

To you.
Too open, too fast, too trusting.
Too bad, too bad, too bad.
In the end, you actually missed me.
In the end, I walked away with no regrets,
warmly blanketed by the comfort
of the full circle.
Thank you.

To you. Ah, you.
There are no words–
well, there are words–
but which ones?
(Blissfully) blinded, (glaringly) sighted, (then) goodbye.
I carved you out of the clay of perfection
and quietly watched the hand of truth smash
you to pieces…

Still you.
Still thinking about it.
Still sighted, yes, but no longer
looking back in youthful anger.
Now, a sad, adult understanding of what came to be,
what became of you.
Nevertheless–regardless–in spite of–
thank you, thank you, thank you.

…And a piece for Monday, also written by me:

Yours.

I was your very first brownie–
I know that because you were
stunned and staring–
and you hated how you felt,
my chubby, bigoted love,
because you commenced with destroying me and making them laugh all the while,
when secretly and behind their backs
you spoke to me like you were whispering sweet somethings
in my brown ear,
an ear you ached to nuzzle and punch in, but you decided to just mock it instead, mock it hard, and the shocked, confused little face that came with it.
but they didn’t see you by the goalpoast,
inching closer, culling conversation,
conveniently cool and quiet when they looked, checking you, checking me.

may you have come to terms so
she may be none the wiser.

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