This was probably my favorite part of last night’s 83rd Annual Academy Awards:
Well, this, and: Anne Hathaway’s stunning red dress; James Franco in a bright pink dress and fake mole and his “Congratulations, nerds!” comment*; Colin Firth winning Best Actor and wanting to dance a jig during his acceptance speech; Christian Bale winning Best Supporting Actor and crying during his acceptance speech; The King’s Speech winning Best Picture; Jeff Bridges’ introductions for all of the Best Actress nominees that nearly made every single one of them cry.
*Oh, and just in case we’re not all on the same page here, it was a JOKE. I mean, come on. Franco got his start on Freaks and Geeks. He’s one of the biggest nerds of them all.
What about you? What did you love (or love to hate) about this year’s show? Cinematic nerds want to know! Well, this one does anyway.
I have words washed out to sea. Words ushered quietly from my lips to my fingertips, waiting patiently for the right tide, for the moon to bring my stories alive.
I have words being reviewed, words accepted and words rejected, and I’m clinging to my favorite lines, fighting for them, and it feels strange and new and exhilaratingly infuriating, this tug-of-war of wills and how the slightest bit of caving can make me feel like I’m flirting with abandoning the sanctity → Read more...
[Alternately titled: Story, The Second: The Girl Who Moved To Washington State]
It began simply. A direct message on Twitter first, followed by texts; those texts, in turn, begat plans. With those plans came anxiety and apprehension – I didn’t know you, not your face or your voice or anything else, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to – but also something exciting, a strange and unexpected hope hovering quietly on the horizon. And then we met, conversed and laughed → Read more...
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...
This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.
Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...