C. JoyBell C.'s Blog, page 63
March 22, 2011
The Story Of A Little Girl In Red Shorts
I am suddenly in a state of epiphany and weird but beautiful awareness of a reconnection with my childhood self and my now-adult self. It was on a sunny sidewalk, on a sunny street, in Tampa, Florida, and I was wearing a pair of red shorts. I forgot what kind of shirt I was wearing, but I remember my red shorts and I was most usually wearing red shorts, at this tender age of seven.
"Mommy, I want to do something really extra special."
"Like what?"
My mommy and I took walks in the afternoons, down these sunny sidewalks in Florida.
"Like make a book."
"Oh we can make a book right now!"
Her smile glistened in the sunlight and her eyes twinkled in adoration. She adored me. I felt it that moment. And I couldn't believe my ears, because there was no way on earth that I could ACTUALLY make my own book, RIGHT NOW! Or could I? I mean, I was only seven! And I could make a book? A REAL one? My goodness! If my mommy could do this for me, then that meant she possessed some sort of a very special magic!
"HOW?! How can we?!"
My imagination of my name on a book on a shelf made me tingle all over, and in that moment right there, I was sure of it! I was sure that there was no more a special thing to do, in the whole world, than to have one's name on one's own book and look at it on a shelf!
"We'll cut up cardboard, then we'll cut up the paper to fit the size, then we'll punch holes in the sides and then we'll tie it all together with really good yarn!" Her eyes were still twinkling and she was raising her hands up into the air against the sunlight and her fingers danced. "And then you'll write your story and we can color the cardboard cover with the most beautiful colors with your crayons!"
I was very disappointed that day. As I suspected, there was NO WAY I would be able to do that very special thing like make my own book and look at it on a shelf. I was talking about a real book. Not one made out of cardboard and crayon and really good yarn.
Today, my first novella is available for purchase by anyone in the world who has access to the internet. And suddenly as this reality dawns on me like the flooding sunlight on that afternoon in Florida, I feel reunited back to who I was at that very moment, on that very sidewalk, and I think to myself "I did it. I really, really, really, really did it!"
When you become a published writer, all sorts of "sharks" swim in and eat up the memories, the reasons, the meaning... and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, it's all about the marketing, it's all about the publicity, it's all about getting yourself out there so people can read you, so people can buy your books, it's all about book rankings and Amazon ratings and Goodreads reviews. But if you take all the sharks away... it's really just you, when you were seven years old, in red shorts, walking with your mommy on a sunny sidewalk in Florida, and you think that the greatest most magical most miraculous thing that could ever happen to you in your life, is to make a book. Your own book. And today, I am happy, because today, that's how I feel. All the sharks are gone...
My new book; my new book is my new miracle, a miracle four years in the making, and it's the most beautiful miracle, to me. Because it is my book, I wrote it, I made it, it's beautiful, it's mine, and that's my name on it.
https://www.createspace.com/3512540
http://amzn.com/1456437925
"Mommy, I want to do something really extra special."
"Like what?"
My mommy and I took walks in the afternoons, down these sunny sidewalks in Florida.
"Like make a book."
"Oh we can make a book right now!"
Her smile glistened in the sunlight and her eyes twinkled in adoration. She adored me. I felt it that moment. And I couldn't believe my ears, because there was no way on earth that I could ACTUALLY make my own book, RIGHT NOW! Or could I? I mean, I was only seven! And I could make a book? A REAL one? My goodness! If my mommy could do this for me, then that meant she possessed some sort of a very special magic!
"HOW?! How can we?!"
My imagination of my name on a book on a shelf made me tingle all over, and in that moment right there, I was sure of it! I was sure that there was no more a special thing to do, in the whole world, than to have one's name on one's own book and look at it on a shelf!
"We'll cut up cardboard, then we'll cut up the paper to fit the size, then we'll punch holes in the sides and then we'll tie it all together with really good yarn!" Her eyes were still twinkling and she was raising her hands up into the air against the sunlight and her fingers danced. "And then you'll write your story and we can color the cardboard cover with the most beautiful colors with your crayons!"
I was very disappointed that day. As I suspected, there was NO WAY I would be able to do that very special thing like make my own book and look at it on a shelf. I was talking about a real book. Not one made out of cardboard and crayon and really good yarn.
Today, my first novella is available for purchase by anyone in the world who has access to the internet. And suddenly as this reality dawns on me like the flooding sunlight on that afternoon in Florida, I feel reunited back to who I was at that very moment, on that very sidewalk, and I think to myself "I did it. I really, really, really, really did it!"
When you become a published writer, all sorts of "sharks" swim in and eat up the memories, the reasons, the meaning... and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, it's all about the marketing, it's all about the publicity, it's all about getting yourself out there so people can read you, so people can buy your books, it's all about book rankings and Amazon ratings and Goodreads reviews. But if you take all the sharks away... it's really just you, when you were seven years old, in red shorts, walking with your mommy on a sunny sidewalk in Florida, and you think that the greatest most magical most miraculous thing that could ever happen to you in your life, is to make a book. Your own book. And today, I am happy, because today, that's how I feel. All the sharks are gone...
My new book; my new book is my new miracle, a miracle four years in the making, and it's the most beautiful miracle, to me. Because it is my book, I wrote it, I made it, it's beautiful, it's mine, and that's my name on it.
https://www.createspace.com/3512540
http://amzn.com/1456437925
March 18, 2011
Official Disclaimer
My writings (the contents of my FaceBook page, my blog, and my books), are not the contents of my personal diary, nor are they definitive of who I really am as a person. I am an artist, and I may write one thing today, and another thing tomorrow, and though it is natural to feel an attachment to the writings of any writer, it is necessary and very needful to keep in mind constantly, that there is no real personal relationship established between the writer and the reader, and I am not writing to you personally. And if you feel a connection with me through a piece I have written, then this is in the name of art, and does not reflect a personal relationship between me and you. Furthermore, you cannot decide on who I am through reading my writings, as these are not contents of my diary, and they are meant to be read publicly, and they are not personal.
xx
The above is my official disclaimer, and it is my sincerest desire that whoever reads me, reads my disclaimer. I will soon post this permanently at the bottom of this blog.
Thank you.
xx
The above is my official disclaimer, and it is my sincerest desire that whoever reads me, reads my disclaimer. I will soon post this permanently at the bottom of this blog.
Thank you.
The Flight Of The Elfin Girl
I was inspired to write this piece yesterday night, while dancing to this music: Cry Of The CeltsNow, I am part Celtic myself, and this sort of music feels extremely magical and spiritually inspiring, to me. Of course, Celtic music was scattered all over the media in abundance yesterday, as it was St. Patrick's Day, not that I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, but I always love to be reminded! Now, this piece here below just sprang out of me, and I stopped dancing to write it, words were leaping forth, forcing themselves upon me, and I do believe that during this reckless and surprising process, I invented a word! That word is "star-brinked" it is not a real word, but now it is! I don't know what I expected it to mean, it only forced itself upon me and I felt compelled to work with it! So, the definition of "star-brinked", as I define it, is: (adjective): To take on an appearance or reflect that of a feeling that is on the brink of resembling a star.
The Flight Of The Elfin Girl
(March 17, 2011)
Through the forest running fastShe chases the flying four-leaf-cloverHer smile is broader than daylight andThe twinkle in her eye star-brinked and Reflected in the stars this night
The wind has winged herAs the moon snows clovers The four-leaf one takes flight Through the forest she drifts swiftly on the windsTo catch it!
The Elfin GirlHer hair has caught sparks of fireFire from dusts of the sun struck to life by lightning bugsHer ears point up to the night clouds That speckle this starry sky
The music of morning flutes on The Hill of Tara run with herHours before their time has come!And the elfin girl has star-brinked eyesThe color of mischiefAnd wonder
Over the stream she leapsShe's caught the clover in a moonbeam!And in the light of the moon her skin kisses magicBathed in white and transparent calicoThe elfin girl: celestial
Covered by skin, brought to life by graceExquisite and remarkableThe elfin girl free and wildThe elfin girl unleashed and uncapturedThis night we look at forever
Copyright © 2011 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.
Have you seen this photo album, already: Monteriggioni?? :)
www.saintpaultroischateaux1948.com
The Flight Of The Elfin Girl
(March 17, 2011)
Through the forest running fastShe chases the flying four-leaf-cloverHer smile is broader than daylight andThe twinkle in her eye star-brinked and Reflected in the stars this night
The wind has winged herAs the moon snows clovers The four-leaf one takes flight Through the forest she drifts swiftly on the windsTo catch it!
The Elfin GirlHer hair has caught sparks of fireFire from dusts of the sun struck to life by lightning bugsHer ears point up to the night clouds That speckle this starry sky
The music of morning flutes on The Hill of Tara run with herHours before their time has come!And the elfin girl has star-brinked eyesThe color of mischiefAnd wonder
Over the stream she leapsShe's caught the clover in a moonbeam!And in the light of the moon her skin kisses magicBathed in white and transparent calicoThe elfin girl: celestial
Covered by skin, brought to life by graceExquisite and remarkableThe elfin girl free and wildThe elfin girl unleashed and uncapturedThis night we look at forever
Copyright © 2011 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.
Have you seen this photo album, already: Monteriggioni?? :)
www.saintpaultroischateaux1948.com
March 1, 2011
Angel
Angel (November 15, 2010)
His eyes are beautiful and frightenedBlack and whiteHis wings are soaked in rainFeathers clinging low onto the rocksFrightened like a newborn birdSoaked in rainHis hair is blackHis skin like marbleBlack and whiteOn the vehement groundHis hands press onto the jagged rocksHands and feetHe perchesLike a bird positioned for flightBut he is frightenedAnd all is black and whiteOn this rocky ocean shoreThe waves rageAt the son of the seaThe waters have bore a winged oneFrightened AloneHostile ColdCome with me, angelI will not leave youCome with me, angelI will protect youCome with meYou are hostileAnd coldCome with meStay with meI will protect you
Copyright © 2011 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.
I wrote this piece in November of last year (as you can see from the date below the title), I recently re-surfaced my most popular piece entitled Human and the strange relationship (but at the same time distinction and contrast) between this piece and my poem Human rang loudly in me. And so I think this is a good time to share Angel with you all, and don't forget to re-visit Human.
I also want to share with you a new photo album I've been working on: Monteriggioni ..
♥ ♥ ♥C
February 21, 2011
Sands Of Time
Sands of Time(February 15, 2011)
The sands of my childhood areSaturated in a fervent coral-tinted hue of peachGlistening; each sand glistening under the sunLike twinkling stars; daughters of the dayAltogether bathed in waters of cyan blueThey cling together seamlessly and appear likeAn endless blanket that is the shorelineCyan studs my footprints and leaps:Like flees: disappearing into the sandTo touch to touch to touch to touch to touchThis sand; to feel it through my fingersThis sand; to pick it up with my handThis sand; to feel it in my palm
The sounds of the cyan against this shore
The voices that call me to leave and let go and come in
No
Here I will stay. On the peach coral sand. Beside the blue.
To feel it.
And the sands of you are like that dreamThe one that awakes me in lightThe dream that is so bright that it awakes me in it's lightAnd then washes me while I smileI smile because I feel youSands under the white light of always and alwaysThe existence between time and space and knowingBut I knowAnd these sands they are drowned in the beauty of this lightTo soak to soak to stay to stay to breatheThis light, this air, this sandThis sand; falling over meThis sand; infiltrating meThis sand; steals my sleep and awakes meSomewhere else
Somewhere I want to be
And I feel the voices of the awake and they move around
But I will be awakened only in this light. And smile. This sand.
Is where I want to be.
Copyright © 2011 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.
Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux
C. JoyBell C.
The sands of my childhood areSaturated in a fervent coral-tinted hue of peachGlistening; each sand glistening under the sunLike twinkling stars; daughters of the dayAltogether bathed in waters of cyan blueThey cling together seamlessly and appear likeAn endless blanket that is the shorelineCyan studs my footprints and leaps:Like flees: disappearing into the sandTo touch to touch to touch to touch to touchThis sand; to feel it through my fingersThis sand; to pick it up with my handThis sand; to feel it in my palm
The sounds of the cyan against this shore
The voices that call me to leave and let go and come in
No
Here I will stay. On the peach coral sand. Beside the blue.
To feel it.
And the sands of you are like that dreamThe one that awakes me in lightThe dream that is so bright that it awakes me in it's lightAnd then washes me while I smileI smile because I feel youSands under the white light of always and alwaysThe existence between time and space and knowingBut I knowAnd these sands they are drowned in the beauty of this lightTo soak to soak to stay to stay to breatheThis light, this air, this sandThis sand; falling over meThis sand; infiltrating meThis sand; steals my sleep and awakes meSomewhere else
Somewhere I want to be
And I feel the voices of the awake and they move around
But I will be awakened only in this light. And smile. This sand.
Is where I want to be.
Copyright © 2011 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.
Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux
C. JoyBell C.
February 13, 2011
Valentine's Day Surprise!
It's today! It's today! It's today! I'm ecstatic this beautiful Monday morning on Valentine's Day! I have been holding my breath and waiting for this moment to reveal to you my new novella which I have been talking so much about over the past months!
For many people all over the world, February the fourteenth is considered as the universal day of love and on this Day of Love in the year 2011, I hereby proudly and wholeheartedly unveil my new and upcoming novella entitled: Saint Paul Trois Châteaux: 1948.
Below you will find a screenshot of my book's website where you can discover more about my story! Remember that the text written on my site was not written by myself, but by a third party writer who was assigned to my novella for the purpose of producing these write-ups. You will take your first glimpse into the characters who succeeded valiantly at stealing sleep from my eyes; in making me witness nights turn into mornings and sunsets turn into sunrises! Lying in my bed, overcome by their whispers in my ears, their stories called for me to stay awake night after night and write down the unfolding of they who have now become Lucy Nightingberg, Thibaut and Pierre-Auguste Desmarais, and Amaury Babin! Their souls tugging at my sleeves are responsible for many a forgotten meal, forgotten showers, and elapsed time!
Today marks their birth into the world and their journeys into your lives! And I can't think of a more appropriate birthdate to bestow upon them, than this Day of Love! To Lucy, Thibaut, Pierre-Auguste and Amaury, I say bon voyage! Bon Voyage! Bon Voyage!
click:
