Deception, pain, punishment, these are all the things that brought me to where I am now; set between the crushing weight of atmosphere & the unrelenting density of earth sprawled out before me. I shift uncomfortable, the literal weight of the world on my shoulders, my knees bleed from the sharp mountain tops forced beneath them. My existence has become suffering, destined to stand tall & strong for an eternity watching life & time slip by. I am cursed, infinitely cursed all because of the need to support those who raised me, who cared for me, who gave me power & purpose in this world. I have been ripped from my lofty throne & thrust into the servitude of Gods that don’t serve me or mine. It is here that I am destined to spend my forever burdened with keeping two loving bodies from one another, doomed to be a passive member of creation, a watcher, a monument of strife, a beacon of warning. I heft the sky father farther away from my mother earth & bear his weight reluctantly all while life goes on without me, all around me, oblivious to the sacrifice I have been forced to make.
Blog/Object Writing: Grief
If you noticed I did not post an outright “Object Writing” post on here on Wednesday, that is because I did a five day series on grief. I was given the grief prompt by a dancer our of University in Canada who asked if I would do an object writing page for her final dance project using the five stages of grief. Naturally I agreed & was delighted, this is that assignment! In my initial writing I did my best to make the stages flow naturally into one another, over the last week I had to figure out ways to segment them out into five one minute posts, they are all attached below. So, what I’m going to do is first post the written form then if you feel so inclined, or if you’d rather, you can go through the individual posts & watch/listen to what I did with them. I can’t wait to share the final dance product as well once it’s presented! Enjoy!
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF
“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.” The shock of the news nearly knocks me off my feet as the message the tsunami of information carried echoes endlessly around my brain. I feel faint, detached from the human vessel that tethers my spirit to this earth, adrift in the noise & chaos. My myriad of emotions cause me to question what is real or even possible. Is this? Is it all just a dream, some sick illusion my subconscious has cooked up for some unknown reason or have the unfathomable nightmares of my deepest, darkest dread become reality? At the end of my Rolodex of “no’s” hangs the fixture to which I attach blame. “IF” I am to believe this malicious marquee of misinformation then someone is at fault. Someone or something is the culprit for this misfortune; effect is nothing without cause. My adrenals pump molten rage into my bloodstream, igniting my senses into fiery passion. I am fuming, eyes frantically searching for elucidation & something to pin the focus of my frustration. Then it hits me. It smacks me in the face with the fury of the scorn I’ve irradiated into my atmosphere. What if it’s me? What if it’s my fault? My mind begins to work overtime, clockwork machines come alive & the pressure & steam give way to desperation. I return a call, for the first time since being encumbered by the burden of knowing I reach out to another human being whom I share commonality with. I am insistent, disheartened, “if only I’d done this,” I cry, “if only I’d done that” but my cries are fruitless. What’s done is done. Life has no redo button, it offers no relapse into the undoing of retribution. Maybe an exchange then, something for that which I’ve lost. Maybe the almighty, the cosmos, the powers that be will shine one glint of mercy upon me & offer me a fair trade. Time, money, possessions, health, all are on the line, all viable options for the return. But the universe sits silent, unbothered by the heart-wrenched pleading of a drop in the river, in the grand stream of time. All is silent. The stillness creeps into my being & settles uncomfortably into my bones. The meaning & spirit drains from me like sap oozing softly from a tree into the ground below me. Gravity’s weight is multiplied ten fold & soon the creature comforts that bring me respite begin to do little the fill the void. I am hollow, an empty shell of icy numb hurt as the colors melt inchmeal around me into sickly, sullen shades of grays. It’s pointless, all of it. Pointless. My energy depleted, my hopes scattered, my berth begins to feel more & more like a tomb; a black void of nothingness to which I shall willingly succumb. Little by little I fall further into the pits of my forlorn until, at last, I reach the soft maw of the abyss. Cradled in self pity & affliction I lie there, transfixed by misery until a delicate ember drifts haphazardly into my core. It too rests with me in this eternity, offering a knowing melancholy smile before wrapping me in warmth. The freedom of empathy washed through me & enrobes me in loving light. It does not discount my loss or patronize but instead sits in amiable eloquence carrying me through my despair. It lifts my chin, places a quant reassurance on my forehead, & nudges me affectionately towards tomorrow. “It is time,” it whispers to me. Like a freshly birthed foal I stagger to find my footing; one & then the other. I look up to the mountain that stands proudly aloft before me & I begin the ascent; one foot at a time, one day & then the next. The sun breaks through the morbid gray & for the first time in what feels like an age I am at peace.
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART ONE: DENIAL
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART TWO: ANGER
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART THREE: BARGAINING
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART FOUR: DEPRESSION
OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART FIVE: ACCEPTANCE
Blog: Is It Worth It? Let Me Work It.
The more I observe society the more commonality I find amongst us, especially, I feel, where people my age are concerned. We struggle with our with, our inherent value & worthiness that we bring with us into the world. I think growing up in the 90s & later, the 2000s, our worth was minimized. We were given participation trophies, shown that the work we put in didn’t matter, that we’d still receive the same level of prize. We were thrown into jobs as teenagers that had us working minimum wage jobs where that minimum wage never increased despite the value of a dollar decreasing. We were told we were special then shown the exact opposite.
Worth is definitely something that I’ve struggled with myself, I haven’t felt worthy of success or happiness or whatever else. Why? Lord knows, but something in me was ingrained to believe that I was only worthy of being considered a human being when I had found success. When I no longer struggled for money or had to fight to make headway in the music industry, only then would I be worth of the name I carry & the feelings of success or happiness I have.
I think a lot of that stems from growing up in church. No shame to the big man upstairs, I’m a fan, just not so much of the church world. When you’re living actively in the christian world there’s a lot of rhetoric around shame. We must be shameful of being inherently sinful or ashamed of the parts of ourself that some printing press decided should be included in the bible back in 1946 due to personal politics. We are told that we fall short of the glory of God simply by being born.
So of course so many of us struggle to find our worthiness. We’ve been told from a very young age that hard work & success are what brings us worthiness, but what happens when society doesn’t hold up its end of that bargain & your hard work just leads to more struggle instead of success or financial freedom? We’re told that if we want to be worthy in the eyes of the church or in the eyes of God that we have to hide parts of ourself or be ashamed of who we are. That no all loving God would accept you as they made you, that you have to fit the christian mold to be in God’s grace. That’s never sat right with me.
So many books that are published these days seek to resolve this issue. In “Rich As F*ck” Amanda Frances makes the bold claim that we are worthy of happiness & of our dreams simply because we are. You are worthy because you are. You were born worthy, raised worthy, & will die worthy of basic human rights, decencies, success, abundance, & happiness.
We, as millennials, definitely have a worthiness problem, fortunately it doesn’t seem to have carried over to Gen Z who appear to see right through the BS & are ready to come swinging. So many of us end up failing though simply because we do not believe that we are worthy of success. We self sabotage, we doubt, we make excuses instead of owning our inherent worthiness & just doing the damn thing with our chests puffed out & our head held high. We are so afraid of the fall that cometh after pride that we have completely depleted ourselves of any of it.
So here’s my challenge to you this week, in all honesty it’s probably something that’ll take more than a week but we gotta start somewhere don’t we? I want you to practice your worthiness. I want you to stop accepting the abuses you deal with at work or at home. I want you to demand to be paid what you’re worth. I want you to stand up for yourself & say “enough.” Why? Because you’re worthy. Why are you worthy? Because you are. Write it on your mirror, put a memo in your phone, put a slip in you car that says “I am worthy because I am.” & own it! Say it, repeat it, feel it, live it!
You are worthy because you are my lovelies, have a fantastic week, much love to you all!
-C
Object Writing: Mosquito
Its tiny taps on the window were what woke me. Small pinpoints ringing out from a minuscule life intent on escaping back to the warm promise of the sun just outside of the grime dusted glass in its way. I watch it from the sticky sheets of my summer bed; how freeing it must be to be a creature so oblivious to the drastic difference a handful of degrees swaying one way or another can make in a room. I lay there, sprawled out on just the mattress cover, sweat soaking through the cloth, as the mosquito moves to circle the room. The late afternoon sun casts long arching marigold blocks of light across the floor, interrupted by a long narrow shadow any time the bug ventures into frame. Another hot day, another hot summer. Even at the distance it flies from me I can still hear the piercing buzz of its wings. I was convinced it wanted to make a meal of me though thus far it has shown little to no interest in doing so. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the ting of musk in the air or the thick soup of humidity, but the insect pays me no mind, so I return the favor. So here I am, spread out over my bed like jam on bread, watching this mosquito search in vain for whatever entrance allowed it access to my abode. I watch & watch & watch until my eyelids began to grow heavy once again & I embrace sleep as my blanket of the oblivious, my single relief from this sweltering heat.
Blog: Vulnerabilities & Rejection
There will be times in your life where people will come to you in their most brazen & honest moments. They will intrust you with information about who they are, what they stand for, who they love, what they do, etc. It is your job as a friend, parent, sibling, lover, mentor, etc to remain as judgment free as humanly possible & make that person feel seen & heard & accepted in those moments.
I’m sure many of you have already had such encounters in your life. If not, there may be a reason why. There is a lesson I came across a few years ago that has stuck with me to this day. I can’t for the life of me recall where I heard it, if I could I’m sure it’d be linked below., but he point of this discussion was “testing the waters” specifically where the ‘parent/child’ relationship is concerned. In the discussion it was brought up that children will often, as the name would imply, test the waters with their parents. They try to gage little bits of information on how their parents may feel regarding certain topics or use hypotheticals to see what the outcome would be if they were blatant, honest, & authentic with their parental units. Often parents fail the test, they give their child an answer that builds a wall or creates a divide & all of the sudden, several months or years down the line, these parents feel like they don’t know who their kids are anymore. That’s because their child has decided it’s in their best interest to stay resigned because they no longer feel safe sharing information with their parents.
So too do we do this to the people we care about. Our friends gage our responses on how we feel about certain things or our willingness to be openminded before they confide in us. If we don’t pass the test, the relationship remains shallow. I pride myself on being able to be the keeper of the true lives & selves of many of those I hold dearest to myself. You see I’ve built up an err of compassion. My friends & loved ones know they can come to me with anything, as their true & authentic selves & know that I will be grateful for their vulnerabilities & embrace them as who they are, accepting the information they’ve told me as their truth, knowing it may have been a conversation, confession, or thought years in the making.
We never know how long these machinations stew in the minds of our peers. It may have taken them years to have the courage to voice exactly what they’re trying to say, it may have taken years for them to even come to the conclusion themselves & they felt safe making you privy to this new found part of self. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that this person felt it pertinent enough to tell you, they saw you as a large enough part of their life or even someone they thought they could receive counsel from. You have been honored with vulnerability, the worst possible thing you could do is respond with judgment or rejection.
The more occasions that your loved ones come to you with their vulnerabilities, the more you meet them with love & understanding, the deeper your relationships & bonds will grow. As a friend we can easily let those who reject us go or cut them from our lives but when it’s a family member, it becomes much harder. When holidays & family gatherings are still a thing for the member who feels estranged or like they can’t be authentic in those spaces, the time spent wearing that mask of “the perfect family member” can be exhausting & disheartening.
We are social beings, creatures of community, & when our chosen community meets our authenticity with a cold shoulder it scars, deeply. Feeling the outcast in an environment meant to cultivate & embrace your humanity gets very lonely very quick.
My challenge for you this week is to be honest with yourself. To look at the times where maybe you fell short of being the perfect confidante, friend, lover, or mentor when someone chose to confide something deeply personal in you. I then want you to reach out to those people, to mend the gaps, & in turn, to share your own vulnerabilities. I also want you to find someone you deem “safe” & foster a space to be vulnerable with them. Fortify that relationship, for as the song goes, “we all need somebody to lean on.”
I hope you have a fantastic week going ahead!
Much love to you all & appreciate you taking the time to read my thoughts every week.
Thank you, truly,
-C
Object Writing: Envelope
No return address, curious. I run my finger over the pointed top of the envelope, my name inked diligently below on the broad side in an enchanting cursive. The wax seal on the inverse panel glistens in the light as I turn the folded parchment over & over in my hands. Occasionally my fingertips caress the soft compress leaving behind a sensation of comfort & familiarity. Upon turning my attention back to the pressed fastening it stands out to me that the indentation of the seal is foreign to me, an unknown entity or house that I have yet to come across or that has possibly slipped my mind. I reach for my letter opener, the blunted blade is cold in my hands sending pin pricked goosebumps down my wrist. I press the tip of the instrument firmly under the binding, then hesitate to take in the insignia of my mysterious sender once more. One fell swoop & the letter is free, springing from its paper imprisonment & cascading folded sheets onto the floor. Casting the newly vacated envelope aside I reach anxiously for the message, wary of what news it may bring.
Blog: Curiosity & Experience
There’s a quote that recently surfaced from an interview that Jim Carrey did with TIFF about four years ago. The topic involved brought into light Carrey’s own struggles with mental health & finding identity, even at his current age of sixty years old. Jim talks about the characters he’s played over the years & states that this menagerie of characters also includes his best known one “Jim Carrey.” He then goes on to say something that really struck me. He asked the interviewer if they knew the different between sadness & depression. The interviewers shrugged. Carrey the said the following:
“People talk about depression all the time. The difference between depression & sadness is sadness is just from happenstance-whatever happened or didn’t happen for you, or grief, or whatever it is. Depression is your body saying “f*ck you, I don’t want to be this character anymore, I don’t want to hold up this avatar that you’ve created in the world. It’s too much for me.”
You should think of the word ‘depressed’ as ‘deep rest.’ Your body needs to be depressed. It needs deep rest from the character that you’ve been trying to play.”
I know that quote is a little blunt & I’m sure stirs up interesting thoughts or emotions for yourself. Whether you agree or disagree with Jim’s point of view is beside the point here. I’d like to invite you to follow me down the rabbit hole of my own thoughts regarding the quote at hand.
I remember the first time depression hit me, I think I was around seventeen at the time. I felt crazy, truly I felt like I was going mad, my mood would swing randomly, I would dive into emotional lulls fairly often, & could never seem to climb back out into the light. My parents, God bless them, didn’t know what to do with me so they sent me to their company therapist at the time. A wildly artistic woman, my first therapist introduced me to the works of Kahlil Gibran, an American-Lebanese artist, writer, poet, & philosopher, an author I love & frequent even to this day. She specifically wanted me to read the segment of Gibran’s book The Prophet called “On Children.” In the book a prophet arrives in a village & basically hosts a Q&A session for the town to come & grill him on his philosophies, this is what she had me read.
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Her point in prescribing this passage was that I had not embraced my own thoughts, beliefs, & feelings. I was going off of my heritage, which we all do naturally. I wanted so badly to fit in as the ideal midwestern good ole boy that I’d completely neglected the actually person residing in my body. Furthermore, I hadn’t just ignored him, I’d straight up avoided him.
I’m a lover of media, as an art form, I feel it to be truly limitless. I love film, invigorating stories & novels, video games with compelling narratives, & music the makes me feel something in a profound manner. I still do to this day. I’m not saying these things are bad or that these things hindered my personal growth, I actually think I’m hinting at the opposite. You see media, in addition to my escapism into characters played on a stage or the role I assumed of the “country star,” allowed me to try on different hats. It allowed me to make connections with my true self in ways that it took me far too long to realize. Media was giving me the vicarious experiences I needed to chisel away the marble covering the man underneath.
Through these new & differing stories I began to embrace the thrill of curiosity. I wanted to know & feel more, I wanted to experience more & see the world through more eyes than had preciously been offered to me. I became obsessed with experiencing food first. Those that know me will tell you I proudly wear the obnoxious moniker of “foodie,” but I am. I’m always astounded by the ways in which culture shapes food, the way science shapes food, the way art shapes food, the way history shapes food. If you’ve ever been on a trip with me you can also attest to the fact that I tend to build my travel around food. There’s so much that a plate of food can say in just a single bite.
From food naturally followed drink, in addition to the aforementioned, travel. With each new experience I gained insight, with gained insight I gained empathy & compassion. The marble continued to get chiseled away.
I dove head first into my curiosity, it allowed me to find the facets of myself that I love & taught me how to manage & confront the parts I find less desirable. So too did curiosity & experience allow me to pilfer through the box of passions & pull the things that spoke to me, leaving the rest behind. That’s a journey that’s an ongoing process for sure!
You see in the past I’d become so ingrained in the miasma of what was in vogue that I abandoned some of the brightest parts of my being. I gave into what society wanted me to be, what my community wanted me to be, what my family wanted me to be, what the media wanted me to be that I became so convinced I couldn’t find success as an artist unless I forced myself into the preconceived boxes I’d been presented with. I’d looked at the world around me & found, white CIS male aspects aside, that my voice, my authentic voice, was one neither worth celebrating nor promoting. I thank God that I’ve since cast those feelings aside.
We are creatures of habit, us humans. We get so stuck in our ways that we forget just how massive the world is & how varied & diverse life can be when it’s allowed to flourish without the constraints of expectation. This is why I urge people to travel, this is why I urge people to make friends with people different than them, this is why I urge people to experience cuisine & media that may seem foreign or taboo to you because at the end of the day we’re all human & the veins of humanity run deep. Hell, you may even be surprised what you uncover about yourself along the way!
I hope you have an incredible week, I challenge you to go out & try something new this weekend; read a new type of book, watch a movie that follows someone whose life is drastically different from your own, be bold & unafraid to change your opinions or perspectives when presented with new information or lifestyles that aren’t reflective of your own experiences. After all, how boring a stagnant life would be?
Much love to you all,
-C
Object Writing: Coffee Cup
Red. Who do I know that wears red?
The lipstick stained rim would have been perfectly set if not for the smudge jetting off to right of the greasy rouge. Whether the imperfection was a remnant of an imperfectly released sip or an attempted clearing of the streaked mistake, I cannot tell. Shaking distraction my mind I snaps back to the question at hand “whose is this?” It was quite the surprise to wake up & find this lukewarm caffeinated tar sitting anxiously in the middle of my kitchen table, auspiciously anticipating the return of its consumer all the while spilling notes of baking chocolate & candied hazelnut into the pale morning ether. Could it be one of my roommates', had one of them had an unexpected guest, or was there now some gussied up rando lurking in my abode? I eyed the mug suspiciously, pondering not only its proprietor, but also where its contents had come from. We haven't had coffee in this house for weeks, an oversight that never seems to get remedied no matter how many times any of us happen to be out & about at the store. The more I observed, the more the neurons returned to their posts after my slumber, the more questions also I had. If I weren't already, the shockwave of the powder bathroom door careening open surely woke me.
And all at once I had my answers. All of them.
Blog: The Greatest Teacher, Failure Is.
This past weekend a friend of mine hit me up to go audition for a mainstage musical at TPAC (Tennessee Performing Arts Center). TPAC is where we get all of our touring shows here in Nashville; Hamilton, Wicked, The Lion King, etc. The musical in question, May We All, was a Nashville based production being produced by the lead singers of FGL, Brian Kelley & Tyler Hubbard. The modern country jukebox musical was specifically looking for country artists over musical theater actors, would feature an array of country songs, in addition to featuring a nightly revolving country artist role with the likes of Hubbard, Keith Urban, Breland, Carly Pearce, Etc. set to appear. In addition to all that the six week run would pay a minimum of around $1K a week to each performer. I saw it as an opportunity for great exposure in addition to some major monetary gain. So I auditioned.
My friend Kimi, who was the one insisting I go to the open call audition, had done a private audition through her acting school on Friday, the day prior. Having made the decision to go, Ev & I set out to preparing audition material at around 10:30 PM Friday evening, the open call was Saturday morning at 10. We did headshots in the upstairs bedroom, ran to Walgreens at 11:15 to print off said headshots, then I came home & made up an acting resumé & chose an audition song. All-in-all I ended up getting to bed around midnight 30 that night.
The next morning I got up around 8 to start warming up & finalize the sheet music I needed for my audition. I got to Starstruck, where the audition was being held around 9:45 & the audition list already had 65 people signed up in front of me. I waited around 4 hours to audition & was finally called in around 2 PM where I sang 32 bars of “Speechless” by Dan + Shay. I was immediately asked to come back in on Sunday afternoon for a callback. That evening I received my callback packet with the music & lines to prepare, it was for one of the supporting leads! I prepared the lines & the song, “One Man Band” by Old Dominion & prepared to return around one the next day.
Enter Sunday Morning. I wake up & my voice is exhausted, flat out exhausted. I warmed up through it, being gentle & trying to get back to at least a semi-decent voice for this audition. I had the song memorized, as it was one I was already familiar with, & felt complete & utterly ready to go nail my call back! I went back to Starstruck, ran into a few old Belmont friends of mine I hadn’t seen in a while, & waited to get called in.
After an hour or so my name was called & I got in line with a few other people who were called back for the role as well. I was last in my group to go, & again, felt completely confident in my auditioning capabilities. Boy was I wrong.
I get called into the room, nerves are fine, nothing out of the ordinary, & get told they’ve cut the song from the Verse, Chorus, Bridge, Chorus, to just Verse & Chorus. Totally fine. I get halfway through the first verse & my brain goes blank. To be completely honest I’m not sure which went first, the lyrics or my voice but one of them said “deuces” & bounced. Having completely forgotten the words to this song I’m very, very familiar with, I started making them up. I flat out started making up lyrics. THEN I did my best to find the words in my sheet music & got further lost. It was a catastrophe. Between my made up lyrics & my voice not working every other note it came as no surprise to me when I finished singing & the casting director said “I think that’ll be all for us today,” to which I replied, “I completely understand” & proceeded to laugh my way out of the room. They didn’t even have me attempt to read lines, something each person in front of me had done. I went back to where I’d left my coat & just bounced.
Surprisingly I wasn’t mortified. Quite the contrary. I had screwed up this callback so horrifically that it didn’t even feel real to me, it felt like a farce. I had gone into this room feeling 100% on top of it & had, at best, delivered 40% of a performance for them. It was baaaaaaaad.
I’m sure some of you saw me post about this on my story. There I expressed that I was actually proud of the magnitude at which I’d failed & I still stand by that. You see I went in confident, I went in prepared, but nothing I could have done would have prepared me for the flub up I made. It was out of my control.
Did I fail? Yes. Exponentially. Was I embarrassed by it? Partially. Was I upset? Not in the least bit.
You see, so often we put so much pressure on success, so much pressure on the avoidance of failure that even our victories fall short. I failed this last weekend in the ultimate form. I failed not because I didn’t try, but because I did. There was no room for “what if” there was nothing different I could have done to have made that audition stellar. Why? Because at the end of the day I had reached the limits of what my body was capable of at that time.
A day later, Monday, I came to find out I was sick with a cold that’s still pinning me down a little today. I knew in that moment, on that day, that my extreme mess up was not the measure of my success nor was it a measure of my talents. It was my body saying “enough.” But hey, at least I tired right?
We put so much pressure on ourselves to be the best, to be better, at all times & for what? Exhaustion? Burnout? I’m not saying that you shouldn’t push yourself but I am saying you need to allow space for yourself to have grace. It’s okay to fail, it’s how we learn. Imagine how boring life would be if we got it right all the time, there’d be no point in celebrating anything. Nothing would ever be exciting.
At the end of the day I clearly wasn’t meant to do this. This clearly wasn’t the path that had been set for me & I may have very well dodged a bullet or cleared the way for something even greater & more in line with what I want & who I am. I remember sitting & thinking before my first audition, much in line with FGL, that if it’s meant to be it’ll be. Which clearly it wasn’t.
Failure is an excellent teacher, or as Yoda put it “the greatest teacher, failure is.” It requires us to look at our short comings, requires us to see where we need to work harder, requires us to acknowledge when we need rest, but it also gives us a chance to course correct & rediscover the path we’re meant to follow.
I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!
As always, much love to you all!
-C
Object Writing: Easel
It stares tentatively at me every time I enter the spare room at the end of the upstairs hall, longing for the attention it had amorously received in its former life. What once belonged to my inspired grandmother now stands forgotten, collecting dust out of sight & out of mind. A half finished painting rests lazily against its frame, the acrylic paint of which still encrusts the shelf that hoists it aloft. It's been a while since this easel has been loved, properly loved that is. It was once the advocate for beautiful expressions of art; oil slicked splotches of plumage, delicately washed lofty cliffs overlooking the sea set under the watchful eye of a salt white lighthouse, true enchantment put to pigment. Now it yearns for such activity, its use long dismissed by the passing fancies of a neuro-divergent brain. Poor, lonely easel, you are so deserving of the flourish of life you once received in the past. I guess it may be time to once again crack out the paints & feel the tug of creativity.
Blog: Come On Florida & Texas, Just Say Gay.
As of today, February 25th, 2022, the “Don’t Say Gay” Bill has officially passed with a vote of 69-47 in Florida. Additionally Governor Abbott of Texas has begun instructing Child Protective Services to investigate the parents of any child identifying as Trans under the penalty of “child abuse.” None of this is even to mention the atrocities being carried out in Ukraine, Poland, Yemen, Syria, or Somalia. In short, today feels heavy.
I had initially planned to write about “Eating Disorder Awareness Week,” which it currently is & my personal struggles with body dysmorphia & vilifying certain foods but I felt called to write less about my personal experiences & more in regards to current events. Plus for those of you reading this that answered my poll, this topic won out by a long shot.
Let’s tackle Florida first shall we?
Don’t Say Gay or HB 1557, a bill proposed by Florida Representative, Joe Harding & backed by Florida Governor Ron DeSantis (boo, hiss), is a bill that prohibits the educating of students on all topics LGBTQ. The bill specifically outlines the complete illegality of discussing anything even remotely LGBTQ with children grades three & younger; including acknowledging their LGBTQ parents & limits the discussion of LGBTQ history or ideas in older classrooms based on whether or not it is deemed appropriate, something entirely up for the Florida Board of Education to decide. The bill also completely limits a teachers ability to be a mentor to any student struggling with the acceptance of their own gender identity or sexuality & was originally set to include a requirement for the “outing” of any student confiding in a teacher to their parents or guardians within six week of them learning of it. Luckily, that last bit didn’t pass.
Moreover, this bill further stigmatizes LGBTQ individuals & creates massive divides between the normalcy of who they are & what the Florida government qualifies as normal. It ostracizes any individual already struggling with the confusion of adolescence & sequesters them to the possibilities of further hopelessness or feelings that they are other than or not worthy of being recognized by society. The bill not only alienates but outwardly discriminates against the freedom these youths should have for self expression & throws a major wrench in the quintessential years that lead to understanding of who they are.
This time in each of our lives is pivotal not only where identity is concerned but also in the foundations of mental health. According to a recent survey conducted by the Trevor Project an average of 42% of LGBTQ youth have seriously considered taking their own lives or have actively attempted to do so. More than half of all nonbinary & trans identify youth have stated the same. Those who identify as LBGTQ also have much higher rates of depression & anxiety, primarily linked to feelings of isolation, repression, & lack of self worth.
Let’s set statistics aside for a second & do a bit of imagining shall we? Imagine the script has been flipped. Imagine instead of LGBTQ students being targeted it’s those who identify as CIS/Hetero. Imagine not being able to talk about your straight parents or relatives. Imagine not being able to express your romantic feelings, your attractions, etc. Imagine not being able to identify as He/Him/His or She/Her/Hers or even discuss the omission. Imagine not being able to consume any media, books, educational films, etc., that featured anything remotely CIS/Hetero. Imagine not being able to learn about important historical figures who were straight or binary. Do you get it now?
This bill is not endemic to Florida alone. There are currently as many as 20 states with anti-LGBTQ curriculum bills in the US & that number is growing rapidly. LGBTQ hate crimes are also on the rise & in the wake of Pulse, the second largest mass shooting in US history, you would think Florida, specifically, would have wised up by now. The argument being made here is that “parents must have a seat at the table for what’s going on in schools” & I personally couldn't disagree more. I’m elated, no offense M&D, that my parents didn’t have a direct say in what I learned in school.
Now. Texas. Ooooooh Texas, what shall we do with you?….
On Tuesday Governor Abbott, the bag of slimy, pustulated dog shit that he is (that’s not an opinion, it’s factual), announced that he will be calling for all licensed officials & members of the general public to report parents of transgender minors so that the state can investigate them for child abuse. Child. Abuse. The radical transphobic move is not a first for Abbott who last year failed to pass legislation making it a felony for physicians, doctors, therapists, & teacher to provide gender affirming care to minors. The bill would have filed felony charges under the physical & sexual abuse categories. Under the current orders not only will child abuse charges be inflicted upon the parents & guardians of trans youth but also any doctor, nurse, teacher, therapists, etc. who refused to report a child’s gender affirming parents.
Five district attorneys have already spoken out in defiance of the order, refusing to prosecute those who are reported. DA’s cite the unconstitutional nature of the bill as well as HIPAA as their reasonings aside from the blatant discrimination happening here.
Trans activists within the state say they are beginning to fear Abbott’s personal trans-phobic tendencies are leaking into the general public & reverting years of progress. They also fear that the rhetoric being presented to non-gender conforming minors it that the Texas government would rather see them dead than recognize them for who they truly really are.
I know this week’s blog was full of a lot of heavy stuff, but I felt it was important. We can’t ignore the issues of the marginalized just because they don’t effect us or play into our personal lives. We have to stop electing officials who paint targets on the backs of minorities simply because of their own misgivings & embrace a society that allows ample opportunity for love & acceptance to all of its citizens, not just those it has personally labeled as desirable.
I hope you each have a great weekend, I know things seem bleak right now but it’s worth fighting for a better world. Persevere on, treat one another with kindness & empathy, make new friends & acquaintances who live completely different lives from you, listen to them, put yourself in their shoes!
Much love to you all,
C
Object Writing: Pavement
Glossy pools of silvery water sit anchored in their valleys, each receiving new tsunamis with every fresh drop of sky that plunges into their shallow depths. Reflective images of trees & clouds ripple away into the aqueous black with each cascading wave. Mountains of inky pebbles extend from the water reaching fruitlessly towards the heavens bridled by their mass & rigidity. It's a small world this splash of life giving sustenance I've stumbled upon, yet another drizzly day blossoming their abundance into existence, their multitudes extending as far as my eyes can see. They tumble recklessly into one another, spilling their burden into their companion just down stream from them until the bounds of each of their shores is compromised & runs its contents lazily into its next of kin. The pavement glistens in the gray gloom of this rainy afternoon. I splash vivacious yellow across the face of each ocean as I pass hearing the soft pitter-patter of the midday precipitation dash against the hood of my polyester rain coat.
Blog: Object Writing
I realized today that I never gave context to the “Object Writing” posts I’ve been making. I’m sure for a lot of you outside of the creative world & even for those within, their materialization has been bizarre. I’ve blindsided you with videos & blog posting that of course make no sense out of context, so please allow me to do some explaining!
This blog will once again contain a story about Leena Regan by the way!
Back in the summer with the soft launch of Leena & her husband Max’s Australian music school, The Songbird Society, Leena started doing artist & writer outreach. Part of that outreach included creating a group that would center around object writing. Object writing is a Berklee School of Music songwriting practice where you are given a random object & told to write a paragraph or so around it. This paragraph must include sensory details (sight, smell, taste, feel, sound) as well as somewhat of a short story it is all wrapped up in. This is a practice meant to be done daily to get the creative juices flowing. It forces you to give random objects context in your mind & create a narrative around them.
Fast forward six months to now. I’m a part of an artist accelerator at the moment that is forcing us to think of our brand & marketing efforts in new in interesting ways, this also translates, naturally, to content! I’d been sharing some of the object writing that I had been doing the last couple of months with Evan who suggested that some of them were good enough to share! I brought it up with my accelerator group & they loved the idea, especially since Instagram Reels & TikToks are such great discovery tools these days!
I thought & thought & thought about how I wanted to share these little snippets of writing I’d done; I thought about maybe just posting the script & reading over it, I thought about just making them blogs or even YouTube vids, but in the end I came back to a method one of my current favorite TikTok users utilizes!
The account in question, @ewistone, has a series of videos he calls “Beautiful Words that Describe Obscure Emotions.” In this series he posts a video that relates to the word in question, voice overs it, & has legible text scrolling along the way. I decided that was the format I wanted to take my inspiration from.
I picked the object writing prompt that I thought would be the easiest to film as my tester, Chapel, & set out to East Nashville to film my video. In hindsight I definitely should have done the voice over first so I knew how long to make the video, but I guess you live & learn.
It’s now been a month since I started the object writing videos & while they haven’t necessarily taken off in the manner I’d hoped they would, I’m still believing they’re going to be a vehicle for me to reach new fans & friends. I’ve now posted a total of four; Chapel, Biscuits, Track, & Teddy Bear. You can find them here, on this blog every Wednesday or on TikTok & Instagram Reels the same day!
As this is still a fairly fresh endeavor I’d love to know your thoughts! I’d love to know ways in which I can improve them, how you’d like them to show up, even any objects you want me to write about! I’d also love to know, honestly, how you feel about them! I apologize for the wonky friday blog schedule this past month as well, I’m still trying to figure out where the object writing fits into my weekly schedule & am still adapting!
Have the loveliest of weekends,
-C
Object Writing: Teddy Bear:
One of its small, knowing eyes hangs lazily, detached just a few inches below its intended placement, held flimsily together by two fine, red strings. The soft tawny fur fades in & out where adolescent hands & arms have left permanent scuffs of love. This teddy had seen better days, that was for sure, but for all the adoration & world it had seen behind its shiny plastic eyes, it was content. You see this bear, this stuffed personified companion had once belonged to a child. It had been a gift joyously received which had then proceeded to fill the life of its young owner to the brim with comfort & amity. This small worn shaping of cotton & polyester had been everywhere its adolescent keeper had gone; it had been a soft, supple shoulder to cry on, it had been thrown to the sky in bouquets of laugher, it had been fastened into trucks, carriages, cars, beds, any assortment of garments, & cavorted tirelessly with. It had been many days since the likes of this had seen the likes of those but the bear still sat satisfied; the dust & years slipping through the gaps in its fibers, making their own home in a former part of someone else's. The furry friend did not despair or long for days long past, it had fulfilled its purpose & was overjoyed with the time it had been given. For the love of a toy wants not, but gives exponentially.
Object Writing: Track
"One more lap" I tell myself, "just one more lap." My feet ache with each exhausting stride they beat into the asphalt, long tired out from the previous innumerable laps. My legs scream at me to stop, beg me for rest, but it is my will that over powers them.It's been far too long since I ran, far too long since I put rubber sole to track & rocketed my way around. My compromised hip sends signals of distress ringing throughout my person but I do my best to ignore its warnings, for it is the reason for my current struggle. If I hadn't of fallen, if I'd paid more attention maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be in my current predicament, stuck trying to prove to myself & those around me that I can come back stronger that the sum of my falterings. Just. One. More. Lap. The battle between brain & brawn rages within me & thus far the war has leaned heavily in my brain's favor, but I can feel the shifting tides, I can feel the odds evening out & I know once they do there will be no coming back from it. In the meantime I just have to keep pushing on. Come on, just one more lap.
Blog: Forcing Creativity
As songwriters the message that we seem to have drilled into our heads over & over again is that in order to be successful in the writing realm, or in music in general, you have to be able to force creativity at any given moment. While on the surface I don’t entirely disagree, you do need to “show up” to do your job. You need to be able to walk into a room, especially when writing for a major artist, & pull a quality song out at the drop of a hat. It’s a scenario I am sure a lot of us are familiar with even in the non-musical world, the need to tap into the creative on the fly, but something I’ve found that is next to impossible to get on demand is that of inspiration.
Inspiration & creativity often go hand in hand, especially where the art world is concerned. It tends to hit like lightning & fade quickly. The trick of striking while the iron is hot can be a difficult one. Inspiration, unfortunately, often comes exclusively from life experience. It comes from living, failures or successes in love, stories that invigorate you, adventures that flex your sense of wonder, etc. Inspiration is not something that can be faked or forced & when an attempt is made to do either it ends up being abundantly apparent.
I’m going to once again refer back to a writing camp that my dear friend Leena Regan put on, if you’ve read any of my other blogs you’ll know that bring up often. In said camp Leena really hammered in the point that if, in a writing situation, you feel like you’re pulling teeth, stop immediately. It’s a mistake I’ve made in the past for sure & I’m sure a lot of us who create have made as well. The problem that ends up arising when you force your way through painful creation is that it completely saps the joy out of creation. Your piece ends up being soulless, heartless, lifeless. It ends up being a stand in that you lock in a drawer & never look at again.
I was discussing this very topic with a producer friend of mine, Joshua Gleave, last night! We were both talking about how we feel it’s a complete & utter waste of everyone in the room’s time to try & juice a song from the pulp of your brain if the spark just isn’t there. He said that he’s had writes where he & his co-writer got a verse & chorus into a song, both looked at each other & immediately said “nah,” calling the session. I’ve definitely had the same, but I’ve often found that going from a different angle ends up igniting the fire of inspiration.
I was in a write back in October with my friend Frye & she & I had the exact same experience as Josh did above; we got a verse & a chorus in & were like “nah.” Nothing wears your creative brain out faster than writing something you’re not feeling at all or creating something you have no attachment to & know will end up going nowhere. We did end up getting a song out of that session but it was one that ultimately we both felt incredibly drawn to & inspired by.
I ended up getting burned out of writing for this exact reason. I stopped looking forward to writing because it felt like a chore, & not a fun one at that. I had always been told what I mentioned at the top of this post, write to write so you can write more & write better. I don’t disagree that we should flex our creative muscles on the daily, no argument there, but I don’t believe that has to take the form of torturous forced “mea culpa” style “inspiration.” You can be creative in other ways! Greet your day with some object writing, paint, draw, dance, sing, play an instrument, do something that gets the neurons of the left side brain firing. You can flex & maintain your creative muscles by broadening its definition for yourself & simply creating to create.
I’m sure that any of you in the virtual audience who are songwriter currently reading this can attest to the following; the best songs I’ve ever written were those I never planned to write & most of the time they were those that just came pouring out of me like lava. In addition to that, most of the best co-writes I’ve had were those where we’d either given up on writing, taking the pressure off, or had just been goofing around. Pressure, to me, brings instant death to inspiration.
Please, please, please don’t burn yourself out creatively the way I did! Find new ways to integrate your art into your life, to get the juices flowing. The songs will come when it’s time for them to, I promise, but you must be persistent & patient with them!
As always my loves, have a fantastic weekend!
-C
Object Writing: Biscuits
The crumbs lie lazily scattered around the base of the package; let’s call them little remnants of a midnight snack consumed half awake. Their trail extending from the ripped opening of which now only a trivial few fractions of the original tantalizing contents remain. It was clear from the moment I'd opened them, during my initial purchase, that this package had previously been dropped; the silvery wrapping had given way to the crumbled bits of cookie within still loosely holding tight to their uniform means of presentation. The hours of night that crept into morning had made way for the soft vanilla & caramel accents of the biscuits to waft delicately into the air & pique the olfactory of any happenstance passerbyer. They weren't my favorite, though, I guess, the haste at which I had ushered them into my shopping basket the day prior would have said otherwise; I guess I'd just had a hankering for something saccharine & carbohydrate laden. I finished the remainder of the container with passive indifference before discarding the scrapes & the undesirable bits into the trash. Great way to break fast, I thought to myself as my gnashing turned sugary tack into mush. Great. Way. To. Break. Fast.
Object Writing: Chapel
Time & time again I've passed it; its old weathered doors, its crumbling steps, & its stained glass remnants of a faith long since supplanted from its grounds. The muffled scuff of my worn work boots click-clack along the well trod cobblestones that lie in its ominous shadow, stopping just for a second to take in its former majesty. The wind carries with it the spirits of the forgotten as it whips through the exposed rafters & returns to bear its divinity as it softly caresses my skin & lovingly lifts the straggling hairs from my brow. Tranquility. It's a rush of warmth from deep within that spreads capriciously throughout my limbs. It is memory, the recollection of time long gone & people long since passed. It is the warm hearth unto which I hang the foundations of my being, the essence of my inspiration. But with the expiration of this town so too has its chapel diminished. Short of ruin, these mildewed & rotting halls once bore witness to all the goings on we as a community shared. This sanctified ground once saw fit to host unions, separations, celebrations, & seasons of mourning. It now plays host to not but the few pigeons that call it home & the ghosts & echos of the kinship of a bygone age.
Blog: Understanding You Value
Hi Friends,
Happy Friday!…if that’s when you’re reading this, if not, Happy Whatever Day It Is For You!
I’m currently a part of a twelve week accelerator that brought up something very interesting I felt would fit immaculately as this week’s blog entry. This prompt was given to us in the form of a question. That question we were asked was to identify the three world that describe you, or as my friend Leena put it, the three reasons that you’re the person people pick up the phone to call when they’re needing X,Y, & Z in their life. What draws people to you?
I’m sure many of you saw that I posted the question on my socials to get feedback from those of you that follow me or know me because, after all, you/they know exactly what it is you/they get from me. I got a lot of really interesting responses & so many of you said so many things that warmed my heart to the core but at the end of it all, I had to narrow the list down to three.
I started by bunching any “like minded” words together to see if I could find a commonality between them or a culminating theme. Here’s what I came up with.
My three words are:
Serene, Considerate, & Curious
The beauty of these three words is that they’re tentative, constantly subject to change because, as we change & evolve, so too must our three words.
The point of this exercise allows you to begin to understand your value, to understand the things that you bring to the table as a human being that make others seek you out or that enrich someone else’s life.
I chose serene because many people say I have a calming presence about me, that I make them feel safe &/or secure. I am often seen as gentle or down to earth. The energy I give off is grounding & comfortable, it allows people to let their guard down & be 100% who they are, unapologetically.
I chose considerate because the word that popped up the most for me, from you all, was kind. I was also gifted words like sensitive, caring, loyal, thoughtful, & present. All of which I felt were summed up well in “considerate,” because at the end of the day what is kindness if not consideration for the feelings, emotions, needs, etc. of someone else on a human level?
My final word, to be honest, is still a bit of a work in progress. In all actuality my original work was “communicative” because I got words like strong, brave, leader, communicator; so I felt that enveloped those things, but the more I sat with it the less it felt right. I recently changed to “curious” because I am a lover of culture, a lover of art, I crave new & exciting foods, drinks, etc., I love travel & discovery, I love reading & learning new things. I love to have my mind blown. I like to try to be ahead of the curve & pushing the limits. New science excites me & new cultures invigorate me. I love sharing these experiences as well as I’m sure many of my friends & the many blogs I’ve written will tell you! Truly curiosity often gets the best of me in the best possible way.
Enough about me though, yeah? Let’s go further down this value rabbit hole.
What Is Your Value?
Each of us has many things that make us valuable, but what is specific to you? No one is valueless, so I’m going to go ahead & shut that down for a lot of you reading this right now, no one. Your value is what gives you an edge in life, it’s the aspects of yourself that make you interesting, that call the world to you, that make you feel alive, & make you feel important.
I’m genuinely curious, there’s that word again, to see what some of you think your specific value is so if it’s not too much & you’d like to drop what you think your three words are in the comments of this post or on whichever social you found this in I’d be delighted to know!
So often we are taught to diminish ourselves, to not be boisterous or to shrink away from the spotlight but I think that taught behavior can be harmful, especially where self esteem & confidence are concerned. I’m sure that a lot of you were raised, as I was, to embrace humility & to always be humble & I’m not at all saying those are bad traits, but we are often pushed too far into those traits to the point where it becomes damaging to our self image. In all honesty, I think a lot of the shrinking of self neuters us. We begin to feel worthless, like our little victories aren’t worth celebrating or even that the big victories aren’t worth celebrating because to do so would be seen as too bold & brazen. Our over abundance of humility is minimizing us & creating unhealthy beliefs around who we are, what we can accomplish, & what we are worth.
I, myself, was always taught “pride cometh before the fall” & I don’t entirely disagree; foolhardy & an overabundance of pride can absolutely be blinding & very much a turn off to the majority of people, but a little pride is totally healthy. We always crave the pride of others but never allow it for ourselves. We love to hear those close to us tell us how proud they are of us, but don’t reserve any of that emotion for ourselves. Be proud of who you are, be proud of the road that brought you here today because the person who climbed the mountain is worth being proud of. You’ve overcome your struggles, you’ve overcome your pain, & even if you’ve faltered be proud of your defeats & learn from them so that next time you can be proud of your victories.
We are luminous beings, all of us. So please, let the light of what makes you so incredibly special shine unabashedly bright!
As always, much love to you all,
Please let me know what your three words are!
-C
Blog: Seeking Movement
This blog was actually a suggestion of a fan & friend of mine who reached out earlier this week to ask my thoughts on Brené Brown. Truthfully, I’m not as familiar with her work as I probably should be or would like to be but that’s not to say she hasn’t drifted in & out of my orbit from time to time. The ask was if I had read Brown’s new book “Atlas Of The Heart.” Truthfully I have not, but, his point is the ask was that I, over the holidays, had written a blog outlining the reasons why sad holiday music is the preferred holiday music for so many of us. You can read that one here. In said blog, aside from outlining the reasons behind the sadness felt during the holidays I also talked briefly about wanting to feel something, to feel connected or seen through these musical pieces. He had just come across the section of Brown’s book in which she talks about grief, he sent me a few screen shots to read & I immediately felt seen by what Brené had to say.
My first adult introduction to Brené happened due to my friend Leena who put together a writing camp. In this camp she used Brené’s example of empathy vs sympathy & how that relates to the cowriting space, I later wrote an entire blog on that which you can read here. I was also advised to give her book “The Gifts Of Imperfection” a read which unfortunately I still have yet to begin. From there it seemed that Brené Brown was popping up all over my life or at least the lens of it. Jake went on Brown’s podcast, I wrote the blog & had a bunch of people talking about Brown directly to me, I had several other people suggest “Gifts” to me, I had people posting her quotes all over my feed. It truly began to felt like a sign that maybe her thoughts were worth investing in further!
The screen shot in question that I mentioned in the first paragraph talks about the reason we as consumers love sad movies. In the section Brown takes about how a researcher by the name of Julian Hanich & his colleagues were investigating something they called the “Sad-FIlm Paradox.” The questions the researchers proposed was "how can a negative emotion such as sadness go together with “aesthetic liking” & even pleasure? Their findings? People like to be moved.
The beauty in the sad films, sad songs, sad books, etc. is that “we feel connected to what it means to be human, to be reminded of our inextricable connection to one another,” Brené explains. It shifts the mindset of the individual into one of “us.” From “me” to “we.” The study further revealed that there is a “highly significant positive correlation between sadness & enjoyment." This process of feeling sad or lonely or want makes us feel moved which then turns into enjoyment. “Hence sadness primarily functions as a contributor to & intensifier of the emotional state of being moved.” -Brené Brown, Atlas Of The Heart
This really stuck a chord with me! You see, if the above is to be believed, we as humans consume art to feel something, to feel connected to the community around us. We, in a manor of speaking, go out to concerts, to movies, to art shows, to the library & bookstores, to our streaming services seeking movement. We desire a shift from one emotion to another in a form of escapism from the mundane. There’s a quote from Stage Coach, Tom Jackson, in which he says exactly this, “audiences go to shows to feel something or else they’d stay at home & listen to the record from their couch.”
I truly think that’s beautiful, that the reason we as human beings consumer art, specifically sad art, is out of a desire for connection, for understanding. As a lover of all things sad media wise there’s something incredibly therapeutic about the experience of being moved. I am a self proclaimed cinephile, I love movies, deeply. I go to the theater seeking movement, seeking joy & tears & pain & wonder as I’m sure many of you reading this do as well, there’s no shame in it. It also allows us to flex our “empathy” muscle which I think we all could use from time to time.
At the end of the day love the art you love, you don’t have to justify it to anyone, there’s a reason it clicks with you & most likely it’s because it makes you feel seen or connected. It has succeeded in providing the movement you sought out. Relish that, feel the way it makes you feel & be grateful for that experience! Great art is hard to come by so love what you love & do so boldly!
As always, have a fantastic weekend!
Much love to you all,
C