12/14/2014 0 Comments Sunday.A day where I shimmer with loneliness but am hard at work. This slow stretch of hours with what is perhaps a severe lack of something to do has me fevered. What sates me is creation. For the blog's artwork I am using pieces of the digital images I used to edit, those animated poems I created seemingly long ago. Terrible, rhyming poetry, but cathartic nonetheless, which I had wished to be redolent of early ladies' magazines, perhaps a dark Kate Greenaway. Her pictures and words haunted me as a child.
I am in love with urban and southern gothicism. I worship the modern poet Kristy Bowen, who has created, in my opinion, the embodiment of these modes. I carried The Fever Almanac with me for years, my poetic bible. It's obvious I'm very influenced by her work. It's like reading my own insides. The veneer of the sweet and right encasing the dark secret, that other realm, the inevitable searing kiss of the wrong. Perhaps not the best interpretation, but I can only feel in the dark for the correct words. It's so hit and miss. The Lost Girl Suite is my own version of the genres, pieced together from endless notes of lines and objects, childhood memories, those impressions I had as a little girl of the world being too big to find a proper space to fit into. I worry about it, though, still. It is a hodgepodge of work I was fortunate enough to have published, along with work I cannot publish. I am a writer who has not been hard at the craft all my life; I rather caught onto it later in life and was lucky enough to publish maybe once a year. I have eased off the submission process, as it is very draining, and somewhat painful for me. Endless rejection is understandably daunting. Instead of relying on external validation I am attempting to create my own self-sustaining world, at least for a while, because it provides solace and stability.
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AuthorToni Scales is currently lost in childhood reverie. Archives
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