JudyIsAPunk's blog

Annie stood leaning over the counter, her elbows resting in the grooves of the old wood the way they always did, her chin in both her hnads, reading a trashy tabloid. Other peoples lives had to be more interesting than hers. Outside some blue haired snowboarders were making handprints and baby feet in the glass. every few minutes on of them would kick the lower part of the porch and nock some snow off his boot while another one in a plaid gray jacket would flick cigaret buts at girl's feet as they walked by. The girls would screech, or call the snowboarders punks, then giggle as the rushed into the store. leaving pink and yellow boards, or skis against the old shaker building.

read more

I am a poet.
What does that mean? It means I write poetry all of the time and don't get paid. Most poets live their lives this way. Making money however we can then using any free moemnt to write down the nagging picture thoughts in scrappy books, leather bound or cheap spirel edged. I write on napkins, margins of other books my paystubs from shitty jobs, anything. I suppose this is a better place for those fleeting little thoughts i have to jot down befor they dissappear. at least here my dog can't chew them up and spit them out in pulpy dripping wads.

I will also use htis space to begin anew novel. One i had the idead for while studying for a semester in london but never had the chance to get started. I have an entire book of notes, though, and i beleive the characters are compelling and the story is all american. I hope we can all learn to love, sympathise with, cry and love with the characters as the work unfolds for all of us.

read more