"For the Lonely" - an original song by avsongbird

Scars

Scars

It's not that I don't mind your scars.
I love you for them.
For knowing that whatever left those mars on your flesh
Wasn't stronger than you were.
You shy away whenever they're mentioned,
Whenever they're bared before the eyes of others,
Unaware that I stand there, fighting the urge to bend and to press my lips softly against them,
To visit them with tender affection for the way they remind me of the fact
That I'm blessed to still have you with me.
That I haven't lost you, even as they continually remind me that I very easily could have.

I love your scars, as I love each and every incredible part of unforgettable you.
And I anxiously await the day you stop shying away whenever my fingertips brush across them,
Knowing as you watch me anoint them with tender kisses,
That with each and every press of my lips,
I'm thanking them for granting me the unforgettable pleasure
Of such tender and merciful moments with you.

"Katie"- an original song by avsongbird

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80QBzMUAvrs

Some don't get it, and some never will.

            It's hard when the people in your life don't get it. When they see you throwing yourself headlong into something you're passionate about, and they flat out don't get it. They see the hours you put in (some of them), they see your work (some of it), your passion, and they turn and go about their day like they didn't see it. Like it didn't matter.
            And it's not that they're selfish, it's not that they don't care about you. You may be a vital part of their life.
            They just don't get it.
            They don't look at whatever it is your working on and see it the way you see it-- not just for what it is or what it will or won't be, but for what it could be, for the sheer possibility of what your work and your time and dedication and effort and passion could bring into your life.
            Maybe you'll make it, maybe you won't, but as long as you find yourself pursuing your passion-- following that star that only you can see-- there will always be people in your life that flat out won't get what you're doing, and every time you try to explain it to them they'll sit there and their eyes may glaze over or they may look at you like you have a third eye.
            Or like there's something they'd rather be doing than listening to you talk at any sort of length about whatever it is you're passionate about.
            And that's okay. Because there are people out there who will get it, and if you push long enough, hard enough, far enough, you may find those people, and suddenly you'll be glad for all those times you kept pushing even when you were the only person in your life who did "get it".
            And for all those times you ignored the voices of the people who never will.

You Shouldn't Be Here- short story excerpt

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/you-shouldnt-be-here.html

"Don't Cry Tonight"- original song by avsongbird

"Carry Me Home" - an original song by avsongbird

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SYWxNN-MRw

AVSongbird blog #7 playlist updates, upcoming song vids, drabbles, poetry

I've added vids of me reading examples of my work on my youtube, for those of you who'd like to see me doing that, and for those of you who like your reading in more of an audio format because a few of you have been asking me for that. I hope you like the changes. I posted quite a bit of everything, didn't want to put all the links on here and inundate you guys with links. 

Thanks guys,

Jen K. (Avsongbird)

new short story- Haunting Me

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/haunting-me.html

AVSongbird blog vid #6 Puppy! and a question for my viewers, followers,...

AVSongbvird blog vid #5- music, stories, life stuff, and youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBGdllonWNA

thank you!

You know something guys, I've been working with my Youtube, going through my social media, watching all the new people following me, and the people signing up for email updates on my blog, and I've been talking with people who've liked or followed my work over the course of the last month or so, and there's no words to describe just how it feels to be sitting here, taking all of this in.

I always saw myself as a nobody from the middle of nowhere, and I always asked myself why anyone would ever want to read my work. Sitting here, getting all the feedback, having people tell me that my work touches them, that they enjoy it, hearing that they find inspiration in it? I can't imagine a better feeling of contentment and acceptance and happiness than I feel as I sit back and take it all in. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

For those of you I've talked with, thank you, from the bottom of my heart thank you, for your time, for your dedication, for giving me a chance. For those who are new here, those I haven't talked to, I look forward to talking with you.



Jen K.

avsongbird

Keep moving forward

It's incredible when you take the leap of faith and start putting yourself out there, and you find yourself meeting people from all over-- people who came across whatever work it was you put out there, whether it's a song, a poem, a story, a painting, a sculpture, any form of work of art or form of expression you chose to share.
I can think of no more suitable word than the word incredible for such a feeling as I find myself in that position. Here I am, just a housewife, a thirty-something nobody from the middle of nowhere posting whatever comes to mind, and I've met the most interesting people over the course of the last month or so-- some of them writers, poets, readers. Some of them would-be bloggers, people who wanted to put their work out there in some form, but were nervous about the thought of taking that one big step that would put them in the public eye.
I tell them the same thing I told myself a little over a month ago-- "Don't ask yourself why, because you'll find a million reasons why you shouldn't do it. Ask yourself 'why the hell not'?"
Dare to be yourself in this life, dare yourself to push yourself to the next level, to always be reaching, striving, pushing!
Don't talk yourself out of it or logic yourself out of it, because you'll cheat yourself out of incredible things-- things you couldn't even dream of.
Sitting here now, knowing how I feel as I read through my emails, my texts, my tweets, my facebook, reading notes and emails and comments from the people I've always known in my life, reading others from people I've never met (some I've talked to in one form or another, others I look forward to talking to)-- I'll never forget that feeling. It's a feeling I never thought I'd know in my life. Because however often I dreamed of sharing my writing with others, of putting myself out there and finding acceptance, of finding people who enjoyed what I do, I always found myself talking myself out of it-- telling myself I was a nobody from nowhere, that there was no way anyone would ever want to read anything that came out of my head.
I was having a conversation with someone tonight, a friend of mine from the past who just recently got back in touch with me, and we got talking about blogging, and what inspires us.
She told me she enjoys talking with me, and she said I was a "fountain of inspiration".
I almost cried when I read it. All my life, I've found inspiration everywhere-- in everything and everyone I've ever met. I've always hoped I would inspire other people, and I've always tried to do whatever I could to help others.
Hearing from someone that I inspire them? That touched me deeply, because it's something I've always wanted to do.
Sitting here a little over a month into the next phase in my life, hopefully the first phase in my life as a writer, I'm grateful for the past month-- for the nerves, and the fears I've come across, for the people I've met, and the friends I'm making, for the creative and inspiring and positive people I'm now coming into contact with in the knowledge that none of any of this would have been possible if I hadn't taken that first step on my own.
Have you taken yours? Don't ask yourself why you shouldn't take it, because you'll find a million reasons why you shouldn't take it, and you'll think of the people who are going to laugh at you, who will ridicule and mock you, who will hold their breath waiting for you to fail, and who may laugh if you do.
Don't tell yourself you're no one from nowhere, that your opinions and your talents don't matter, that no one will ever find merit in them. Because the truth is? You don't know that.
There may be someone out there somewhere who's sitting there, just like you-- who feels as you feel, who dreams as you dream, who fears just as you fear.
And they may be waiting for your influence, for your bravery, to inspire them.
Don't ask yourself why you should do it. Ask yourself "Why the hell not?"
And take that step.

The Downward Spiral and the Uphill Climb-- Reclaiming Yourself

If there's one thing I've learned over the course of the last few years of my life, it's that you can't live someone else's version of what your life is supposed to be (or what you think they think your life is supposed to be) and be happy.
We've all done it-- thinking we had to act a certain way, talk or look or be a certain way in order to be accepted, to be successful, to feel loved.
It's so stressful, living your life that way. It's stressful and frustrating and draining.
And the longer you go on that way, the more you find yourself getting comfortable with it.
The more comfortable you get, the harder it is to change it.
And it's a downward spiral. The more you become who they think you should be (or who you think they think you should be) the less "yourself" you become, and with each passing day, week, month, more and more of the real you is left along the wayside.
If you're lucky, something or someone will step into your path, grab onto you with both arms and shake you till you wake up.
It could be your kids, your family, a close friend, a significant other.
It could be a total stranger on the street who just happened to be passing you by at the time.
Be grateful for that person. Because even a day spent living someone else's version of your life, is a day too much. And the longer you live your life that way-- the further down the spiral carries you-- the harder it is to claw your way back up to the top again.
But it's worth the climb, and all of the work and effort and frustration that you'll find yourself facing on the way back to reclaiming yourself again, because once you get back to the top?
The view is incredible. And when you get there? You'll realize you never want to live your life any other way.

I miss you-- a love letter

I miss you- a love letter
(This is from another love story I wrote a few years back. It's still one of my favorites, and I often find myself going back to read the story all over again. I hope you enjoy it.)

God, how I miss you.
Your innocence, your faith, your eyes.
Your fearlessness.
I miss the way your eyes light up with your smile.
I miss the feel of your lips on mine.
Your slender fingers playing whisperingly over my skin
In seeming innocence, as though you didn't know that
You set my soul on fire with just one touch, one look.
One kiss.
I catch myself saying your name at odd moments,
Just for the tingle of excitement that always passes through me
Whenever I say it aloud.
I lie in my bed in the dark and whisper your name into the darkness,
And I imagine you're there with me, your arm around me
As it once was.
I miss the way you always reached out for me while you slept,
When you were too lost to your dreams to even realize you were doing it.
I miss every second of every day we spent together.
I miss your thoughtfulness and the sound of your voice.
And more than all of this, I miss the smile you always saved
Just for me.

In those Pages

In Those Pages

By Jen K.-- 2015

I'm there, in those pages,

If you look hard enough.

Can you find me there?

Do you want to?

When you pull back the cover on my notebook,

When you click on that link,

You're foregoing the guardrails, and the safety nets.

You're leaving your world behind you, shedding it like a discarded skin.

You're crossing over into a world entirely of my making.

And the rules of your old world-- your old life-- don't necessarily apply to mine.

So consider yourself warned, and welcome aboard.

Don't keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times,

But I sincerely hope you enjoy the ride. 

Sounding Boards and Audio-books

               Every writer-- whether you're a poet, lyricist, novelist, short story writer, napkin scribbler, blogger, or any combination of the above-- needs a reliable sounding board-- someone you can read your work to who will listen with an open mind, and give you their opinion. Someone who will ask the questions that need to be asked, and give you a fresh view of your work, so that you can then head back into your writing nook and correct whatever mistakes you've made.

               For me, that person has always been my mother. And ironically, it's been especially true for the last six years. Since she and I now find ourselves living over 1000 miles apart, that means a lot of late night Skype and cell phone calls (apparently being a night owl runs in my family). 

               I can't stress enough the need for a good sounding board. It's one thing for you to think your work is half-way decent or for you to be pleased with yourself-- that will only take you so far. To push yourself to keep reaching, to keep improving, you really need someone else to give you a different viewpoint. I've lost count of the number of times I've read something to her and had her come back with a viewpoint I hadn't thought of-- some of them changed the story completely.

               I just got off the phone with her a little while ago-- went into the kitchen to pop myself a massive bowl of popcorn and pour myself a bathtub-sized cup of coffee before I came into my room to curl up with my laptop, ready to get to work for the night.

               My mother is an incredibly intelligent woman, but in the household I grew up in, where my step-dad is a hardcore reader, my younger brother is a reader, I'm an even harder-core reader, my mother (though a speed-reader like you wouldn't believe) has never counted herself as much of a reader.

               Granted, when she does pick up a story that catches her interest, she can speed through it like nobody's business. I always counted myself lucky that I'm much the same way in that respect.

               A few weeks back, we were in the middle of me reading something or other to her (as many projects as I've got in the works at the moment, I can't remember which one it was at the time), she told me that my writing is one of the few exceptions to that rule. I only knew that there's times she'll call me out of the blue, always asking first if I'm busy (I always say I'm not, whether I am or not. She's my mom, after all.).

               Then, she asks me to read to her. When I ask her what she'd like to hear, she always answers "Whatever you're working on."

               So I read to her. My poetry, my lyrics, my one-shot drabbles, my epics, and she listens, sometimes asking questions, sometimes offering an opinion on my work, sharing memories and stories of her life that whatever I'm working on might have brought to mind.

               I called her up today and I asked her if she'd seen the video I made for her last night (technically I think it was sometime around 5 this morning when I finally finished editing and posting it), and she pulled it up and watched it.

               She asked me if I'd send her a copy of the video, so I did, just as I sent the mp3 of me singing "Amazing Grace" to her a few days before (I played my singing as the background music for the video I made for her).

               Then, she asked me if I wouldn't mind sending her other recordings-- if I wouldn't mind recording me reading my writing and sending it to her in audio format, and I have to admit, I'd never thought of doing such a thing before. Then again, I've been doing a lot of things lately I never thought of doing, so I thought about it, and I figured sure, why not?  

               I was nervous about making the blog, and now it's starting to feel more comfortable, I was nervous about making vlogs, and now I'm looking forward to it, same with singing in public, and now, I've got two vids on my channel of me doing just that.

               I guess what I'm wanting to ask you guys is-- is that something you guys would be interested in? I know people read audio-books when they're busy, or don't feel like reading, that some people find it more soothing and relaxing to hear the words spoken instead. Are my works something you guys would like to hear in an audio format, if I find a way to post them in such a format, or do you find the idea of my voice akin to something like nails on a chalkboard?

               If this ends up being an idea that people are interested in, I can start looking into it. But if you'd rather just read my words, or if you don't find my voice suitable for the task, then at least I can say I made the effort to try something different, which is something I'm trying to do more and more in my everyday life.

               As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my blog. I appreciate each and every one of you who let me into your lives for a moment at a time, and I hope you have a great night/morning.

--Jen K. 

For my mother, with love and affection vid

Different types of writing-- and an epiphany

               I do different types of writing, depending on my mood. There's writing for my stepsons, writing for my family, friends...

               There's writing I do for public viewing...

               ...and then there's the writing I do for myself.

               Sometimes, those lines cross.

               The most prevalent form of this occurrence actually involves a project that began as a simple "this is for me" story that I began when I was in my late teens/early twenties.

               It was a story I started with no intention of ever making it public, just a way to pass the time and dabble around in my head, to see what came of it.

               Over the course of the last ten years (give or take), that short story/idea drabble stuck at the back of my mind, waiting for its time to come around again.

               Earlier this year, I had an epiphany, while I was working on another story (supposedly having nothing to do with the first). This was a story I'd been working on (off and on) for about five years, and like the first, it was a "just for me" story-- one of those I write and fall into and read over and over again for my own enjoyment (I've always thought of it as my personal version of a housewife novel).

               The wheels in my head began to turn as I took a step back to look at the parallels underlying those two stories, and as I began to connect the dots, more possible ideas began to unfold.

               The nights that followed that epiphany were a blur as I fell headlong into the brainstorm that came up as the ideas collided, and out of it came an idea for a new story-- not just the first story I began all those years ago, not the one I've been tinkering on for five years-- but something altogether new, transformed by the colliding and merging of one story with another.

               The lead in both, of course, is a strong female sort, a reluctant participant in the unfolding events of her life. And I won't drop spoilers here, because I'm having way too much fun brainstorming and working out all of the details and putting the events down onto paper to cheapen them by dropping spoilers.

               What I can tell you is that it is a fantasy story, one with epic battle scenes, epic character development, and yes, unfortunately there may be some epic deaths.

               I can tell you that it will involve science fiction, fantasy, romance, angst, heartbreak, love, hate, and betrayal. That it will span not just one lifetime, on one world, but a few lifetimes in a few worlds, and that there will be one central link between each of the lives shown, and each of the worlds.

               I can tell you that the story may turn out to involve even more than a few lifetimes, or a few worlds-- that this may be just the tip of a very large iceberg.

               I can tell you that I make my characters as human as possible-- they make mistakes, they screw up, they have obvious flaws. I set out to make them as real as I can possibly make them, because I want you to feel not just for them, but with them-- I want you to see their world through their eyes. If I haven't done that, then I haven't done enough.

               As I work on these stories-- poring through piles of notes and word documents of notes and ideas and try to make sense of it all, to transform it into the story that's dying to come out, I hope more than anything that the love I've come to feel for these stories, that the passion I have for the lives and the people and the events I put onto paper comes through in the work, and I hope I do it enough justice that when it's finished, you, my readers, will come to love the stories and the characters as much as I do.

Taking the Fall

Taking the fall

I'm not looking for perfection,
I'm not looking for scripted lines.
I can't be swayed by ego, or riches.
I only want your time.

So remove for me your mask,
Your lies, your misconceptions.
Leave your judgment at the door,
Your biased preconceptions.

My soul is honest, open.
And I ask from you the same.
Because that's the way it should be,
The heart is not a game.

If you're not afraid, you should be.
But I need you to be brave.
It takes a brave soul to risk so much,
and it's that honesty I crave.

If you're not willing to risk exposure,
If you're not willing to risk at all.
Then you can take this goodbye as closure.
Because you win only if you risk the fall.

Alone

Alone

I can hear the wind howling
Over the snow.
Where sheer cliffs drop off
Into caverns below.
A lone soul lost bends against the wind,
And wonders if he'll ever see home again.

One set of prints lost in the deepening snow,
If he stumbles and falls
Will they ever know?
Drops to his knees beneath silent trees,
How he misses his loved ones
In moments like these.

But he's alone out there now, beneath the moon and the pines,
It's been weeks since he left it all behind.
Alone with the snow, with the wind, and the cold,
If he stumbles, if he falls,
Will they ever know?

I Stand

I Stand
By Jennifer K.

              

              

I stand feeling nothing

Yet everything at once.

I know not what I'm thinking,

I am hidden from the sun.

He holds me close, yet moves away.

The dawn has marked a brand new day.

I live in the dark, and I'm craving the light,

Embracing the morning, dismissing the night.

He stands before me, many miles away.

I walk down the street underneath a sky-- gray.

I stand, feeling nothing,

Yet everything at once.

I know not what I'm seeing,

I'm blinded by the sun.

He stands in the sun, I'm lost in the dark.

Consider your feelings and with them depart.

I go, feeling nothing

Yet everything at once.

I know not where I'm going.

I stand.

written 8/14/1998 at age 15.

To hell with your age

               I've never really understood society's obsession with age. I just started my online blog back in May, and wanting to make sure I get my writing out there to as many potential readers as possible, I linked it with various social medias, including posting my vlogs on my Youtube channel.

               Part of the idea behind all of this was to help me come out of my shell a bit-- to help me get over being so shy and nervous and afraid of the thought of sharing my work with others and putting myself out there for people to see and point at and possibly mock and ridicule-- to show me that maybe the world isn't as scary a place as I've built it up to be in my head.

               Needless to say, I share links on my Facebook and across all of my social media, learning how to network on my own and trying to learn as much as I can as I go along, and I've been getting various response whenever the people in my life find out about what I'm doing.

               My mom, of course, is thrilled, but then again she's always been supportive of my writing and to be fair? I was on the phone with her the day I posted my first video blog on Youtube, and to be honest? She was the one on the other end of the line going "do it do it do it doooooo iiiiiit!"

               My husband is thrilled-- he's been pushing for years, telling me I should finish one of the various books I'm working on and send it in to various publishers to evaluate, and telling me that I'm too much of a perfectionist and that I shouldn't be quite so scared to share my writing with others (You know how it feels, don't you fellow writers? People find out you're a writer, and they ask to see your work and suddenly you hate every word you ever put to paper? I can't be the only one out there.)

               I'm like my mother in a number of ways (Yes I admit it, and with pride dammit, my mother's one hell of a strong and loving, compassionate and selfless woman, and I'm proud to be her daughter), one of which is the fact that neither one of us really pays attention to our age anymore. We both figure we're old enough to drink, drive (SEPARATELY), and vote, so why obsess over a number anymore?

               There's been people who hear I'm doing all of this and look at me like I've got a third eye. Which is fine. My life is supposed to be my life, not theirs. At the end of the day, how you live your life is your business, and how they live their life is theirs, and I've always believed everyone should live their life in whatever way makes them happy, as long as they're not encroaching on the happiness of others, or hurting others in order to make them happy.

               I don't understand why we're expected to dress and act and speak according to our ages all our lives. But then, I've never understood why people felt we should give up who we are in order to fit the cookie-cutter ideal laid out by whatever hats we happen to wear.

               I don't understand why people should feel like they have to change who they are just because they're getting older, or because they get married or have kids or even grandkids. How can you live a happy and emotionally fulfilling life if you're not even free to be who you really are? How can you be truly happy in your life if you have to spend all day every day pretending to be something and someone you're not?

               I'm in my early thirties now. And guess what? I still read comic books, just as I did ten years ago, and longer ago than that. I used to play dungeons and dragons when I was younger, and if my younger brother showed up at the front door with it today, damned if I wouldn't play it still.

               I rock out at guitar hero with my stepsons, and whenever the newest Marvel movie comes out, I geek out just as hard as they do, if not harder, and so does my husband.

               Oh yeah, family of Marvel nerds here, and DC, and every single person in our house is a gamer of one kind or another.

               I curl up on the couch with my stepsons and watch video-gamer commentaries on Youtube and crack up just as hard as the kids do, no differently than when we curl up for our movie marathon nights.

               My middle stepson calls me up out of the blue from his mother's house to talk to me about Minecraft (his latest obsession). He tells me about what he's building and sends me pictures, and we brainstorm about what he should build next. You wouldn't believe the incredible things he builds. I told him I was considering giving it a try, just to see what it was about, and he and his younger brother were both on board with the idea.

               My younger two stepsons and I get into lengthy discussions about how much of a badass Thorin was in Lord of the Rings (they've both read all the books), and get into playful arguments over who's the best Marvel superhero (The youngest would say Captain America, the middle one would say Wolverine, and I have my own opinions).

               The point I'm trying to make is that it shouldn't be up to your age or up to other people to tell you that you can't love the things you love, that you can't do the things you do that make you truly happy, that help you connect with the people you care about and make your life feel complete. Just because you're getting older or you get married or have kids, you shouldn't have to change who you are. I am who I was when I was younger, and I regret having to admit that I spent far too much time in my recent past stressing over what I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act and what I was supposed say and wear and do now that I'm a wife, a stepmom, and a woman heading into my thirties.

               I became so caught up in everyone's expectations and bending and twisting and contorting and pretending so much to be something I wasn't for so long that one day I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

               You can't do that, and be happy. And I wanted to be happy. Not "smile for the camera" happy. Honest to goodness "screw what everyone else thinks, I'm gonna be me and they'll either accept it or not" happy.

               Because you know what? You deserve to be happy in your life, and not just "smile for the camera" happy. Not "oh shit they're looking I have to fake it" happy. Honest to goodness "smiling when you go to bed at night, excited to wake up in the morning" happy.

               Screw their expectations, their guidelines for what is and isn't acceptable per your age and your status in life. Your life is yours to get out there and own, and if you don't get out there and own it, and live out every single glorious day of it to its fullest, at the end of the ride, you'll regret all the chances you didn't take, all the words you never had the guts to say, and all of the times you sacrificed who you were just because you let them tell you what you could or couldn't do, and who you could or couldn't be.

               I'm Jennifer. I'm a writer, a blogger, and a reluctant nervous-as-hell sometimes Youtuber. I'm a comic book reader, a gamer, a bookworm, and a life-long middle ages and horror and zombie movie addict. I'm a devoted wife and a proud stepmom and a proud member of the Lord of the Rings fandom among others, and I'm working my way steadily into the Doctor Who fandom as we speak. I love a good story anywhere I can find it, whether it's in movie, book, play, or video game form (To be honest, some of the best horror stories I've heard lately have been through video games), and I love meeting fellow readers and writers who love a good story just as much as I do.              

               And there are days I honestly forget how old I am because, at the end of the day, I refuse to let my age tell me who I am.

               And neither should you.

please be nice guys, I’m shy about my singing voice, and wanted to post it before I talked myself out of it

http://avsongbird.tumblr.com/post/121232748898/ive-always-loved-music-and-ive-always-loved-to


I hope you guys enjoy it. I recorded it on my cell phone standing in my hallway because it was the only quiet spot in my house. It’s always been one of my mother’s favorites and I really recorded it for her, but she asked me to post it so I did, before I could change my mind lol. I might be deleting it later.

Can I Borrow You for a Second?

Can I borrow you for a second?
Take your heart and make you feel?
Can I open your eyes to a story,
And convince you that it's real?

Though you may feel your heart is breaking,
I promise I'm going to make it better.
No matter how good or bad things get
I'll be with you, letter by letter.

Pertaining to my organizational skills as a writer (or lack thereof)

               One of the hardest aspects of being a writer for me (besides continually chasing down the ever-elusive muse) is being organized about it.

               More often than not, I find myself working on six or seven different stories at a shot, which keeps my "In progress" folder on my desktop busy. And as someone who's been writing for a long time and can't always get to a computer in time, I have a fair amount of notebooks about my house.

               There's just something about taking that pen into your hand and seeing those words spill onto the pages of a notebook, isn't there? I've always felt the feeling was altogether different than typing onto a computer.

               I have notebooks under my bed, in my closet, in an organizer tote by my bed, and there is always, always one in my purse and on my nightstand.

               Why so many notebooks? If you're a writer like me, and if you spend a fair amount of time at it, more than likely you know the pain of turning that computer on, settling down into your chair with your bathtub-sized cup of tea or coffee, opening that file..... and suddenly, you feel all the blood draining out of your face, leaving you with a dizzy, light-headed feeling, your eyes glued to the screen.

               "File not found". Poof. Days, weeks, months, years of work, vanished without a trace.

               When I was still in high school, I lost a story that was over 250 pages, size ten font, single spaced. More recently, I found a story I'd been working on for five years had become corrupted, and the checkdisk decided that it would be a good dear and "fix it for me". Over 1100 pages poofed overnight. 5 years of work, up in smoke.

               I spent the next week begging and pleading with my computer, swearing and calling it every name I could think of (inventing some new ones along the way), opening temporary files and going off of old saves and wracking my brain to piece the story back together because I couldn't stand the thought of letting that much work go without a fight.

               I'm happy to say I got most of it back, and that because I'd been working on the story so often, and read over it so often, I didn't lose nearly as much as I would have if I hadn't kept my notes.

              I'm a firm believer in backups, thanks to that cute little 250-poof fiasco, don't get me wrong, and after the 1100 page snafu? I've become even more of a spastic saver than I used to be-- one main save, a couple of backups on separate hard drives and USB drives, and my ever-existent pile of notebooks.

               My husband gets it, but then he called me on the phone on his way to work the day of the 1100 fiasco and was greeted by the sounds of me panicking and hyperventilating and all-around freaking out at the thought of losing so much time and work. He doesn't question my need for notebooks anymore, and to be fair, I'm trying to be better about my organization-- I keep my creative clutter cornered in my little cubby hole in my bedroom, by my computer desk.

               If you're currently a writer or looking to become one, I hope my ordeals serve as a warning-- if you're not a spastic saver of your work? You should be. I can't stress enough over the need for backups, whether it's on another computer, or a separate hard-drive, or a USB, or notebooks. Always, always back up your work. It's better to have too many copies, than to wake up to find that all your work has poofed.

               I'd much rather have a pile of notebooks under my bed than the "it's gone" heart attack any day of the week. 

Finding Jesse (Side note set after "Run Jesse")

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/finding-jesse-side-note-set-after-run.html

Are you a twisted and sarcastic romantic like me?

               Some days I find myself sitting at my keyboard, blog up, staring blankly at the screen, fingers poised but frozen at the keyboard.

               It isn't a matter of not having anything to write-- nothing to say-- nothing rolling around causing all kinds of chaos in my head. 

               Sometimes it's a matter of knowing whether or not to share whatever happens to be going through my mind at the time.

               For one, the matter of "appropriateness" comes into play. I have a sarcastic, sometimes twisted sense of humor, I' always loved horror movies and scary stories, and yet I've always been a hardcore romantic at heart.

               We're talking a love of moonlight dances, shared sunsets, kissing in the rain when I'm not up to my eyeballs in horror movies and all things zombie related (And sometimes while I'm up to my eyeballs in horror movies and all things zombie related).

               Throw together a combination like that and an overactive, unchecked imagination from hell, and you can get into all kinds of trouble if you're not careful.

               Especially when it comes to branching out and introducing yourself to the world for the first time, and not knowing whether or not they'll get your humor.

              

I got into a lengthy discussion with one of my readers today.

               I got into a lengthy discussion with one of my readers today.

               He asked me how it felt to document my life's details, to share not just my work, but details of my life and of my past with people I've never even met. He said that some of the finer details of my life made him feel uncomfortable, and I get that. Some of the things that happened in my past are touchy topics with some people.

               Living through them gave me a better understanding of others who've gone through the same thing.

               I gave it a fair amount of thought before I answered him, wanting to be as honest as I could be, and I told him it's hard, sharing yourself with others like that, opening yourself to others like that.

               But at the same time, it's therapeutic, sort of getting everything out there in the open like that, it's healthy. Certainly healthier than burying it all deep inside and letting it fester, letting it make you angry and bitter and making you feel guilty.

               Doing things like that allows things like that to own you-- and that path is certainly not a healthy one to travel down. It will leave you angry, bitter, self-destructive (and possibly even destructive), and it will isolate you.

               And it's a far better frame of mind to be in when you own your past, than when you allow your past to own you.

               At the end of the day, it's important to remember that everything that happened to you, everything you've been through, made you who you are now. That you wouldn't be who you are without every decision-- good and bad.

               Without every memory-- good and bad.

               Without every regret that haunts you.

               If you went back in time and changed any of it-- any decision you made, any action you took, any regret that you had-- then came back to the present, you wouldn't be you anymore. So everything I've been through, everything that's happened to me, everything I've ever done in my life-- I am who I am because of it-- all of it.

              It's a comforting thought, to see how far you've come in your life, and to recognize that fact.

               My blog is where I post my thoughts, my poetry, my stories. It is an extension of who I am. And I know not everyone blogs the way I do. How boring would it be if everyone blogged the same? There's no wrong way to blog. Blog what you want-- write to inspire, to get opinions, to begin discussions.

               If it's judgment you're worried about-- mockery, ridicule-- and what people think, don't. You can't let that thought stop you from doing what you want to do with your life.

               People will always judge you-- by who you are, by what you do, by what you look like and how much money you do or don't have.

               People are going to judge you. And some of them will be assholes. That's just something you're going to have to face. Because not everyone you meet will be an asshole. And if you don't risk the assholes, at the end of the day you'll be left wondering if you didn't just miss out on the chance of crossing paths with someone who could just change your life-- someone who would invigorate you, change your mind, make you see the world in a way you hadn't before.

               I've always been a firm believer in the life-changers-- the walking muses. I've met more than a few people in my lifetime who've inspired different works in me for various reasons. And they shall remain nameless, with my gratitude towards them just for existing-- for being who they are, and for inspiring such thoughts in me-- for sparking my creativity, and my imagination. I love them for opening my eyes, for changing my mind.

               I've met some interesting people since I started my blog-- writers, readers, people from all over the world. I've taken criticisms and compliments, been told how they loved or hated my work. I've read the work of others who'd read mine and chose to share theirs with me. And I was flattered at the thought that they wanted to know what I thought. I've had people asking me about what side projects I've got going, stories I've already posted, and what I plan to post down the line.  

               Do I regret sharing so much of myself? So many details, even the ugly ones? No. Because I'm just starting to branch out and to have people reach out to me, to contact me, and I'm coming across incredible people I might never have met if I hadn't taken the leap into online sharing. People who've told me "Oh my God that's how I feel" or "I went through the same thing". I couldn't have had that if I hadn't been so open about my past, and my experiences.

               Do I regret it? Not even close. If it makes you uncomfortable, if it bothers you that I write the way I do, that I talk about the things I talk about, then I'm sorry, and I hope you don't let your experience here make you shy away from reading the other works of the other writers on this site or others. Some of the best writing I've read over the course of the last few years has been by people who've been bloggers-- some of them fanfiction writers (before you judge, seriously, check them out). Some of them are incredible writers, people who fall in love with stories and shows and characters the way I fall in love with stories and characters. People who want to share their love of the stories and characters with others in turn.

               I get that. As a writer, as a reader, as a lover of books and comics and movies and all things creative and imaginative, I get it. After all, what good is fantasy, imagination, movies, books, stories, if you're not emotionally invested on some level? How boring to sit back and read something or watch something and afterwards "Yup that was something" and just go about your life completely unchanged by it?

               Do I regret? No, not even for a second.

Let me hunger

Let me hunger,
Let me rage,
Let my passion stain
the page.


Let the fury crash
Like lightning,
Let it surge across the sky.
Let me paint everything
Of nothing.
Let me flourish,
Let me fly.

AVSongbird blog vid #4 - I want to be real with you a minute.

Life is lived in the moments

Time is precious, fleeting,

and to give your time to someone else

is the most precious gift you could ever give them.

Memories of shared sunsets, sleeping in late on Sunday mornings, circling the block just once more because your favorite song came on the radio and you just couldn't bear the thought of turning the car off before it was over.

               Life passes you by a moment at a time, each moment more precious than the last in the way that it's there and gone, and will never be again.

               I have always counted myself as a collector of moments, and I live my life by the moments. The first time I put pen to paper, the first time I met my husband, each and every sunset I've seen from the back porch of my house.

               Life happens in those moments, and if you're not careful, it's so regrettably easy to slip on the blinders and switch over to auto-pilot-- to live your life by the bills you have to pay and the job you have to get to, and the people you're held accountable to, and before you know it you find yourself caught up in the maelstrom, and when the winds die down and the smoke clears, you find your life has gone on without you, and you were far too busy surviving to live it.

               I'm guilty of it. I admit it without pride. It would be pointless to say any differently. And there's nothing I can do to change that fact-- no way to get back the time I lost. I'm grateful for the fact that my eyes are now open to that fact, and I'm making a conscious effort to remind myself to be a collector of moments, the way I used to be.

               When was the last time you stopped what you were doing just to watch the sunset? When was the last time you took your shoes off and curled your toes into the sand? When was the last time you let yourself enjoy the smell of roses, of jasmine, the smell of the sea? When was the last time you dropped your guard and didn't give a damn what anyone else thought long enough to let your hair down and fully fall into a moment?

               When was the last time you felt alive in every last living, breathing, beautiful, vibrant bit of you?

               I'm a collector of moments-- the good, the bad, the in between. These are the moments that make your life-- the moments that make us who we are.

               What moments do you treasure? What moments made you weak? Made you strong?

               Cherish these moments, the good the bad, you're trading the seconds of your life for it. And the moment you forget that fact, your life will run off without you, and you'll find yourself merely being taken along for the ride.

               And there's no sadder fate than the unlived life.

Story of A Life

Story of a life

Too young memories of screaming,

fighting,

divorce,

Hamburger helper dinners,

just the three of us, enjoying the peace, the quiet.

Caring mother, loving, devoted.

Two years, just the three of us,

military man, second chance.

haunted by the past,

desperate for love, for peace.

Near constant moving,

Schools blurring together,

Faceless classmates in clichés that pass by.

Discovered passions, purpose, direction,

Whirlwind of classes,

Farewell, big brother.

Buried in schoolwork, 4.0, first job,

diploma.

Trusting girl, played for a fool,

Distrustful but not without reason.

Nanny, Caregiver, Personal Aide.

Grocery clerk, injured,

Starting over for the second time.

Passion and pain unavoidably linked together,

Refusal to give up the passion despite the pain.

Boyfriend to fiance, fiance to husband.

Apartment to house.

Nice house, quiet nights, echoing nights in a silent house.

Years pass.

Loneliness forgotten, lost in the worlds within.

Reawakening hunger, passion, drive,

Reaching for others,

Understanding, community,

still searching for understanding,

for peace.

AVSongbird blog vid #3-- Numbers! Jesse! glasses!

Down the Corridor

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/down-corridor.html

Run Jesse- Part 10

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-10.html

Run Jesse- Part 9

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-9.html

Angels, Demons

Angels, Demons

By Jen K.

If you don't appeal to my angels,

You'll awaken my demons,

They await me in the night, in the dark.

And if I'm not vigilant as the night grows colder

They'll drive their daggers deep into my heart.

I feed my demons when I'm alone, when I'm afraid.

I hear them best when I'm lonely, when I'm lost.

Then I'm left to clean up whatever messes they make,

Left behind to bear the burden, and the cost. 

Busy Week

Not gonna lie to you? This week has been busy as hell. Zucchini plants are taking off like I water them with coffee and steroids in equal measure, likewise my rosebushes, and the apricot tree finally put out fresh apricots. Two days later, my youngest stepson is still checking the tree every day for more. 

       Oh yeah, did I mention our youngest decided to hang out with me this week? Turns out he'd never had an apricot before, so when the first one was ripe and we were the only two home (dogs aside, fuzzy little permanent fixtures that they are), I pulled it off the tree, rinsed it off with the garden hose and split it with him. It was rich and perfect and still warm from the late afternoon sun. He'd barely even had the first bite swallowed before he declared his love for all things apricot. It made me smile, reminded me of me when I was his age and tried one for the first time.

     He's been running me ragged this week, the way the young always do. 

     We have a huge trampoline out in the back yard, and it's always been one of his favorite things to do around here. When we first bought it, paranoid crisis planning sort that I am, I set out to dig a hole in our yard big enough to put the trampoline surface level with the ground(If you knew just how hard the dirt was in our area, you'd call me a masochist, and looking back, I can't completely disagree with you), and with my husband and oldest stepson's help, we put the trampoline in it. 

     Don't get me wrong, they can still fall, but they can't fall far, which I figured was far better than the alternative. 

     With his older brother back at their mother's place for the week, since he's not out of school yet, that leaves me to be the playmate of the week. Which means my "I'm getting too old for this" arse was out bouncing around on the trampoline with him and trying to delude myself into thinking I was a kid again. 

     I forgot about my age and the heat when he started giggling either the third or fourth time we played "Crack the egg" (It's his favorite) and I sent him launching up into the air.

     Don't worry. For those of you who've never played, you sit cross-legged on the trampoline and hold onto your ankles with your hands, and its the jumper's job to get you to let go of your ankles, and to topple over, thus to "crack your egg". Good fun for the jumpee, great exercise for the jumper. 

    And guess who got to be the jumper. Yay me haha. 

    Trampoline aside, I've set out to do whatever I could to make this week special for him, as he isn't often over by himself, and with him being 10 now, I know it's only a matter of time before he wakes up and realizes he's "too cool" to hang out with me. 

    He came across his dad and I playing Rock Band sometime in the not-so-distant past, and seeing his dad on the drums, he decided to give it a shot. 

   Less than two years later, he's able to hold his own on almost every song on Guitar Hero 5 on the drums, and he likes having me play along with him on guitar. We jam along together and sing the songs we know, pretending to sing the songs we don't, and we have a mutual agreement on a couple of the songs we played through once and "shall never speak of this again". 

     I play on the easy setting, keeping my eyes on him with the understanding between us that if he messes up and gets booted, it's my job to bring him back in, so he can get better. I love seeing how into it he gets, hearing him jam to Bon Jovi, and hearing him sing the Beatles when we chance to switch over to the Beatles Rock Band. 

   Most of this week has been about the garden, Guitar Hero and the trampoline for him, and camping out in the living room together till all hours, watching whatever on the TV together till he gets up and staggers down the hall, to go to bed. 

   I love seeing the smile on his face when he drifts off to sleep, with him murmuring in his half-asleep-already way about everything we did together that day, and what he wants to do tomorrow. Makes me feel good to know that though he's on the brink of being "too cool to hang out with me" he's not quite there just yet.  

    My husband took last night off to spend with us, sort of as a special day, and the three of us headed out to the movies. How could we not? The new Avengers is out, and hell's gonna freeze before we miss that one in the theater. And yes, for the record, we always sit all the way through the credits, holding our breath for the spoiler scene. (Shawarma, anyone?) Our youngest was plopped down between us, stealing my popcorn and grinning ear to ear, practically bouncing in his seat with his big blue eyes glued to the screen. 

   Firecracker that he's always been, there are very few things that can hold his attention or keep him still for lengthy periods at a time-- video games, for one, but even those can try his patience, super hero movies for two (I think that's true for the whole house. Especially Marvel and D.C.), and books. I was tickled to death to discover that he runs through books like I do, and he doesn't just stick to fiction or comics.

   A few years back, he discovered that I'd gone through E.M.T. training at an earlier point in my life, and that I'd in fact graduated and had my license for a time, and that sparked a curiosity in him. Then came the questions. Questions led to answers, that led to more questions. Fast forward a bit, and suddenly he, his older brother and I are standing in Barnes and Nobles, browsing, and the youngest sits down in the middle of the aisle with a children's anatomy book, opens it, and starts reading. 

    He sat there for a good fifteen minutes solid without looking up, while his brother wandered off to check out the comics and I hung around somewhere between the two, to keep an eye on them both while they wandered the aisles. 

    When I came walking up to him as he sat there reading, he lifted his head, and he immediately started telling me what he'd learned so far. 

    We ended up leaving the store with the book. 

    Over a year later, he still comes over and tells me about what he's learned that week-- what the kidneys do, what the liver does. Telling me he may become a doctor when he grows up, and as bright as he is, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. 

   It's been a long and busy week, and I'm honestly sorry to see it coming to a close, at the memory of everything we've done together this week and how quickly the time will fly by-- knowing the day will come that he trades out time with me for time spent with his friends or at work or off on his own. 

   For now, I'm content to enjoy it-- to pop the popcorn and laugh with him as we stuff our faces and try to decide which Marvel is our favorite (His is Captain America, I have too many to choose just one), to have late night movie marathons and to play rock band together till he laughs and lets his hands drop to his sides because he's worn them out, to "crack the egg" on that old trampoline and hear him dissolve into a mass of grins and giggles as I laugh along with him. 

   I treasure these days with him at this age, and I miss them already, knowing already that one day soon, they won't be there anymore.

   When that day comes, I hope he remembers them all as fondly as I do.  

Run Jesse- Part 8

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-8.html

Run Jesse- Part 7

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-7.html

Run Jesse- Part 6

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-6.html

Run Jesse- Part 5

http://avsongbirdshortstories.blogspot.com/2015/06/run-jesse-part-5.html

You're not alone

               I want to find other people like me. I want to find the ones who go about their lives like they're normal, like there's nothing special or different about them. The ones who go to work and school and go about their day like they don't have a million different things on their mind.

               I want to find the secret outcasts, the ones who never quite felt like they fit in. The ones who speak more eloquently on paper even on their worst days than they ever do in conversation.

               The ones who curl up with their laptop at night and create infinity with their fingers. The ones who scribble notes onto a napkin in the middle of restaurants. The ones who write hundreds of stories and thousands of pages they're too self-conscious to dream of sharing with anyone else because they're afraid of rejection, of mockery and ridicule.

               The ones who dream of more... of endless possibilities.

               The creators, the dreamers, the thinkers, the wishers, the imaginers.

               The ones who, like me, fall in love with people and places that never existed outside the reality we live in every day.       

               I'd love to find a way to bring them out to play, even if it's within the safe black and white confines of the world wide "why not". I'd love to make them dare to think of "what if". To show them that there are others out there like them, dreaming, writing, painting, singing...

               Creating.

               To show them that they are not alone.

               I want to share my secret worlds with them; I want to share the vision, the dream. I want to reach deep inside them and make them feel. I want to make YOU feel.

               I want the interaction, the passion, the energy. I want to give them a place to come and be inspired to create, to share, to fuel their passions and walk away feeling better.

               I want to show you that it's not as scary as you think it is. Don't get me wrong-- I've always been an introvert. To this day, I'm still shy... at first. But once people get to know me, I'm a royal smart-ass, sarcastic, love to laugh and dance and sing and have fun. I'm a nerd and I love nerd things, and an all around goofball. I'm a card-carrying member of more than a couple of fandoms (and no, if I don't know you personally, I'm not telling you what they are, though as you get to know me, you'll more than likely figure it out at some point haha.)

               The thought of going public, of putting myself out there, my writing, my face, my voice, is one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life. And though I'll admit the video logs and sharing my feelings through my blogs are getting easier as the days pass, as the numbers continue to go up I still feel that stab of nervous fear every time I go to post a video, blog, story, drabble.

               I hope I never lose that feeling, because that feeling keeps me in check. It keeps me humble.

               If you make your way here, and you find yourself feeling better at knowing you're not alone-- that there's other people out there like you, like us-- then I'm glad. That's why I'm here. If my scaring the hell out of myself and putting myself out there makes you feel a little less afraid at the thought of reaching out and finding understanding and a little bit of peace and a sense of belonging, then I'm glad. And I honestly hope you find it in yourself to reach out and let me know if I helped you.

               I know how scary it can be to put yourself out there, your face, your picture, your name, your words. The world's a big place, and I know not everyone out there is as accepting or understanding as we wish they were. And I'm ready for that. At least, I hope I am.

               So I understand if you want to comment on my work, to share your ideas about it and your thoughts and that maybe you feel nervous at the thought of putting it out there for everyone to see. I know that feeling all too well. That's why I understood from the start that making a separate email where any of you could contact me away from the public eye to tell me what you thought or to introduce yourself to me would hopefully make you feel better, safer, and more at ease.

              You're not alone. You never were. And if that thought makes you feel better at knowing it, then I'm glad. 

you are my sunshine- for my mom and my grandmother.

Please keep in mind it's been forever since I last sang in public, I usually sing for my family or under my breath any more, so I know it's not perfect. But I've always loved the song and to this day it's still one of my favorite love songs.