Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

I won!

I got here first.  I tripped up Reese and side blocked Amy to reach the starting line.  JC was pretty close behind, with those long legs of his, but he found his typewriter ribbon all tangled up.  Who could have done that?

Occasionally I am ruthless in competitions.  We once entered our baby in a crawling contest.  He won first prize in the preliminary.   He crawled right to mama to get a piece of cookie.   We were ecstatic. Then the next Saturday we were in the next level where babies from different stores came to get the grand prize.  We sort of practiced a bit at home.  but tried to be cool about it.  Wouldn't want to over-train.    The crowd was festive.  There were photographers.  (okay only one)  The energy was intense.  He must have realized how bad we wanted this, his little lip went out and his brow furrowed.

GO!  and all the parents are pleading at the end, waving binkies, bottles, remote controls.  We had made a serious mistake and fed him first.  should have starved the little tike, he looked too content at the end. watching and taking in the antics at the other side. That licorice wasn't doing the trick.   Finally he's on the move and coming on strong.  Come to mama, sweetheart, come to mama!

One little baby was ahead of him. the only other serious contender.  One had been disqualified when he got up and walked but this little girl was moving up fast.  I yell,  "Oh No!" in my dismay as she is about to cross the finish line  and scare the everloving bejeesus out of her.  She turns around and goes back to her mom.


It was a hollow victory.

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Writing here is not a competition.   You write, you win.  Everybody gets to win every time when we read each others pieces.  All the pieces make a nice morning's work.  We are all winners. We rock.
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