Imperfection at It's Finest

I was sitting here thinking this:  I've lived so many different lives. I've been a horse trainer, a writer, a speaker, a yoga teacher, a musician, a music writer, a limousine girl, a homeless wreck, and more, and then there were the times when I felt like I was just "existing," when I was in between, when I was searching, when I was calling out to hawks or horses or God, if you will, for some sense of direction. Sooner or later, it always happened. Sometimes, direction didn't appear clearly though. Rather, more often than not, it rolled in rather messily.

But when I think about the moments I loved the most, I don't think of winning at horse shows. I think of watching the horses running free in the fields. I don't think of big rock shows; I think of taking a walk with one musician that I deeply loved. I don't think of selling books; I think of one day when a girl told me my book helped her stay sober. And I think of the kids I taught how to ride, and the way that I usually liked the most "difficult" ones, the troublemakers, yeah. I think of A., who played guitar with me in Seattle and helped me stay alive, when I was nothing but a hopeless case. I think of the other A., who took me strawberry picking when I was so ill, and I couldn't remember how to smile. He did it for me. He carried me.

These days, laughter is divine to me. So is stretching, learning new things, and realizing when I've fucked up, trying to face the fear and do things differently. But all in all, it's the small things that still touch me -- someone's sharp, black-rimmed glasses, a 6' man who knows how to give the perfect hug, even to someone like me, who isn't a big hugger, the tree on the trail that's shaped like a "4," a long walk, learning how to put on eye shadow at 42. The little things. Hell, maybe they're everything.

I've spent a lot of my life looking for the "perfect fit" in relationships, in jobs, in life in general. But here's how I see it now -- the beauty rests within the imperfections.

That is love.

C.A. MacConnell

Raw

 

When day becomes night...

 Photo by Cameron Knight

Raw

Singer, you gave me
The mint. Sure, I was a cowboy
Killer. The den light
Burned pink,
Like raw skin,
Like a room tongue.
I kissed you once, twice, maybe lucky three
Times, telling you to leave
Before the roommates woke up and
Found us
Passed out on the couch again.
Humming, whistling.
That night, the storm
Was wild. Surely, somewhere, horses dashed
Across slippery fields.
Surely, somewhere, wind slid through the
Cracks
Of a screaming barn.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Heyman Talent

Heyman Talent

Cincinnati, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Joanna at the Waffle House

Coffee or tea? You're lucky, see --
some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me. See, they want me
back. Mornings -- blinding, man,
And the bottle was the place
that I called home. When I woke,
sometimes I found strange blankets,
or maybe a brand new bruise.
Some girl was always askin' T-bird
who she fucked last night. Shit,
never talked to that kind. I traced
my way somewhere safe. Thick,
fast, mean love shook me loose,
like a wicked cough, like a wheeze,
making my chest push and pull
within the hours, when I felt
the noise of everything close.
Maybe it was even you. Hell,
I remember the slick, nasty streets --
the muggers, and the dope boys,
and the Lusty Lady strippers.
Outside smokin', they wore nothing
but red robes. I remember the punk
kids, the snapping, the slapping,
and the cracking. Everywhere,
smiles held gaping holes. Back
there, in the box, a baby. You need
more time? You're lucky, see.
Some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me, 'cause back there,
in the box, that baby was mine.
Maybe it was even you.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Watchtower

Watchtower

Mariemont, OH

Hey, everyone. Hows it going? THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, my 2017 novel, is on fire! Not literally, thank god. But people are sure digging it. The other day, someone sent me a three-page text of interpretation. I was so surprised, but I loved it. So glad people are digging in and getting something out of my work. It's the kind of book that can be read as a fast-paced story, but it's also the kind that can be taken to the depths, for sure. I planned it that way.

Buried within it, there are many secrets.

Above all, it'll take you to another world.

Also, because of book purchases, I've been able to give a steady amount of donations to The Prospect House, which is rad. Let's keep it going, eh? The plan was to give a portion of the proceeds to Prospect through the end of July. However, the new plan is to give a portion of the proceeds for a longer time.

That's right, I'm going to give a percentage to Prospect for as long as the book's in print. You know, forever.

Thank you so much for supporting my art. Truly grateful. I'll post some new stuff on here soon. Been busy with other writing. Hope you are well. Hope you feel loved.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Memorial Bench

Memorial Bench

Juilfs Park

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Summertime

Summertime

Juilfs Park

Nothing artistic, ha. Just one to make you smile! Happy Summer. I hope you're having a great day. Time to write,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Crows

Crows

Cherry Grove, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Cleveland

Cleveland
Cleveland, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Clam

An oldie but goodie poem. Kinda sexy, if I do say so. Hope you like it. C.A.

Clam

Take me inside.
These fragile tables,
these empty vases,
these antique chairs
have seen better days,
my friend. Outside,
weathered birds
poke hole after hole
into crooked trees,
furiously feeding,
deeply stabbing
at the edges. Take
me inside. Alone,
I sit and sip, shifting
through lost ones,
and I wonder where
you are dance-running,
searching for Sugarman,
telling each stranger
about your latest
revelation -- the long
version, freestyle,
whether or not the line
stretches down the aisle.
Tomorrow, you’ll fly
to Africa. Tomorrow,
you’ll buy a hand drum.
Tomorrow, you’ll catch
the lucky shot -- the rarest
herd of albino deer.
Tomorrow, you’ll find
the hidden fork --
a lost, forgotten path
within the infamous
trail. Tomorrow,
you'll be the first man
to ever feel each layer
of rainbow, painting
your fingertips with dew,
holding the most elusive
shades and tones,
one for each day
we live. Surround me
in your overcoat.
Take me inside
your ghetto or classy
room. Take me inside
where ceilings hold
stars and planets.
Take me inside,
where I can twist
the black band
from your hair,
letting it down loose,
whether tangled
or smooth. I will wear
your hippie hat.
I can almost taste
your too-sweet tea.
Take me inside.
Let me slide
like a clam
down your throat.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Chimes

Chimes
Milford, OH

 
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Stormy Day

Stormy Day

Miami Meadows Park

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Late Night

Late Night

Mariemont, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Everyone's in the Band

"There's no leader of this band, and there never will be. That's the key. You can't control how the public perceives you -- people see rock 'n' roll bands as the guitar player and the singer." -- Shannon Hoon

So true, isn't it? In everything we do, people slip into their "roles," but when I think about it, like Hoon said, these roles are merely created out of perception. In reality, they don't exist at all. Of course, everyone in the band is indeed important, so why do we single people out and raise them up as if they're "the ones"? And why do others disappear, fading into the background.

I do it too. I may see someone as a manager, a famous actor, or a thief. But when it comes down to it, these perceptions mean nothing at all.

Superstar, punk, janitor, drummer, executive, chef, dishwasher, president -- all perception. What about the beauty on the inside? What kind of soul is really in there? Maybe the chef secretly makes butterfly wood carvings. Maybe the executive would rather be a tour guide in the Grand Canyon. Maybe the drummer would rather be swimming in the ocean, because he loves sharks. And maybe, just maybe, the superstar just wants to curl up on the couch with someone and be loved, but he or she can't seem to find it in that world. Ever. So close, but no.

If we all saw each other as spirits here to help one another, the labels would disappear. And I'm certain that we would all wear pajamas every day, all day, all night. I'm sure of it. Because if the focus were on giving, the appearances and role wouldn't matter. At all.

Today, let me see how I can be a helpful spirit, part of the band, so to speak, not the leader or the one hiding, but "in it" fully, as part of a working whole,

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Spencer

Spencer

R.I.P. bro,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Why

Why

C.A. MacConnell

Thank You!

Hi there! Here are some photos from the signing yesterday. I was all decked out in my nineties gear, paying homage to the book's time period.

Grateful to all who came out to support my art.

Grateful to be able to give some donations to The Prospect House. If you buy a book through the end of July -- online or in person -- donations will still be made.

And grateful to The Main Cup in Milford for hosting the event. They did such a great job. Stop in there for some locally roasted coffee and baked goods if you can. Delish. And such good energy at that shop. Thank you, Jill and Jim!

We packed the place -- standing room only! :) It was a good night, for sure.

Hope you are well and happy today. If you would still like to buy a copy of the book, that would be awesome. THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR  is available on Amazon, and I have some copies left as well, if you catch me in person. Or you can email me at camacconnell at blogspot dot com.

Thanks again to all who came out to support my art.

Now onward and upward.

Time to work on book three.

Thanks again. Peace out,

C.A. MacConnell

Book Signing Today!

Ed Vedder, photo by K. Wight

Yep, today. See Featured Post for details. Hope to see you there.

Let's go,
C.A. MacConnell

Tomorrow!

Rad. Pictures of Main and Bradley, two places I frequented at Hollins University. Without Hollins, I wouldn't be where I am today, for sure. The first draft of THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR was completed here, way back when. Of course it's been altered drastically over the years, but I workshopped it heavily here. I <3 Hollins. What a wonderful school.

Hope to see you at the signing! It's tomorrow -- Main Cup, Milford, OH, 5pm. For more info, see Featured Post.

I'm stoked. I'm getting groomed and shaving my beard as we speak.

I'll be scantily clad in an Anchor bikini, a thong that shows my rock hard ass.

Sheeit, I may wear a dress, which is a one in a million thing, so be prepared for that miracle.

Someone said this to me the other day:  "You're like a boy." Um, if a "boy" is a warrior, then fuck yeah. I'm a boy. Whatever. It's confusing. Which is why I need to find a man who dresses like a woman for a partner, I suppose. Tootsie?

I do try to lube up and look nice sometimes, indeed. I will try tomorrow. :) Just for you all. Most of the time, I think this:  who gives a fuck? Dayum, we're all just goofball spirits with skin on. Who cares.

I'm cracking up as I write this, yo.
Love to you.
Hope to see you there!!!!

C.A. MacConnell

Three Days Away!

Kylin passed away eight months ago, but he sure helped me write THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR (and everything else I've ever written), and he'll be with me at the book signing this Sunday. I almost took him to my first book signing; my mom and I actually had a conversation about it. He never needed a carrier...he just rode on my shoulder in the car and such. Usually, he'd sit in my lap or hang out on my shoulder while I wrote. He liked to be close to me every second of the day.

He was my best friend for 17 years.

Hope you'll be there too. For all the scoop, see Featured Post to the right.

We're gonna pack the place. :)

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Hoping, Four Days Away!!

Hoping

One of my favorites I've taken. Got a lot of hope these days. Also, I'm wound up, ha. Text I just got from my Dad:  "Chill Honey Chill." He's awesome.

THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR Book Signing is four days away! Hope to see you there. If you can't make it, you can purchase a copy on Amazon right now. See Featured Post on the right for details.

Gonna go see my boyfriend, Argo the dog, today. :) I love him too. And he loves bacon. I keep telling him to become a vegetarian, but he never listens. But I wish he lived closer. It makes my walk pretty long when I go see him. I still wish he were mine. One day, I'll have a big, scary dog of my own. I think I want a Rottweiler.

Spoiler alert. My one sentence review of 47 Meters Down:  At one point, I screamed and jumped out of my seat, and so did my buddy, so that was rad, but Mandy, I love you and your pretty smile, but let me tell you, if you wouldn't have spent 40 or so units of air worried about your husband (soon to be ex) back home, your sister might not have bit it.

Much love,
C.A. MacConnell

Happy Fourth!

 Happy Fourth!

Safe travels.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Covington Alley

Covington Alley

Saw Baby Driver last night. My one-sentence review:  Like that Indy movie, Temple of Doom, I'll see it again, due to the genius movement of that opening sequence, and in the case of Baby, I'll see it again because of the whole movie, and the kissing was better than Doom, except there was no obvious chicken in it, so it won't win best picture, sorry, because only movies with obvious chickens win best picture.

C.A. MacConnell

The Good Knives

Here's a short comedy piece for you. Something light for this sunny day. Enjoy. -- C.A. Mac

The Good Knives

When I was little, there were these weird people called "traveling salesmen" who appeared every now and again in the neighborhood. Now, of course they're long gone, but back in the day, we'd let any old Scott or Tim or possible murderer into our house. Encyclopedia Brittanica? Mom and Dad bought the whole set. Tupperware? Bring it on. We didn't even discriminate against the guy selling Cutco Knives. That's right -- he was selling knives, and one night, Mom opened the door for him like he was her best friend. Soon, I think he was.

Hunched in a corner of the den, I watched the transaction go down. I always thought it was fun when something interrupted dinner.

The salesman laid out the butcher knives, the steak knives, the machetes, the swords, and the various types of scissors. I'm sure there were some nun-chucks, axes, daggers, and crossbows in his bag.

Mom listened intently as he described their possible cutting, dicing, and slicing techniques.

Wide-eyed, I thought, What do we need more knives for? But the salesman wore a suit, and he smelled like Polo cologne, so I figured he was the real deal.

Then the salesman pulled out the Cutco scissors. He began to demonstrate how the scissors were so sharp, they could cut a penny in half. And they could -- that serrated edge cut right through any old penny.

Mom shouted at Dad, "Honey, come look at this! These scissors cut a penny!" Then to me, "Can you believe this?"

"I can't believe it, Mom. Never saw anything cut a penny in half!" I yelled, agreeing wholeheartedly.

With his skeptical face on, Dad slid into the room. "What's this racket all about?"

Smiling like a wild clown, the salesman did another demo of the penny cutting.

Dad gasped. "Never saw that before! Unbelievable. Those things cut a penny right in half! Where's Matt? Get him in here."

Matt, my brother, wasn't around, so I was the sole recipient of the day's magic, and I admit that I was pleased about it.

Mom promptly purchased the scissors, and then she added about five knives on to her bill. She seemed excited, maybe even sweaty.

The salesman seemed excited, maybe even sweaty.

But as the salesman was leaving, reality set in, and a horrible thought about the scissors occurred to me. I waited a few minutes until Dad was gone, and then I tentatively asked Mom this very pointed question:  "Why and when would anyone ever need to cut a penny in half?"

Holding her knife set, Mom scrunched her eyebrows, shrugged, and whispered,  "You never know." Then she looked around, and I could tell she was listening for Dad's footsteps above her. We did that all the time -- just stared up at the ceiling to make sure he was up there. Then Mom chuckled and winked, "At least I finally got my good knives."

C.A. MacConnell

Eight Days Away!

Smooth

Howdy. Happy July. You hungry for locally roasted coffee, yummy snacks, beautiful company, and a celebration of art?

Guess what? You're in for a treat...

The book signing for THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR is only 8 days away. That's right, it's Sunday, July 9, 5-7pm, Main Cup, Milford, Ohio. Be there!

And, if you'd like to order a copy of the book now, go here.

Remember two things:
1. Through the end of July, a portion of the proceeds (online and at the signing) will go to The Prospect House, a long-term drug/alcohol treatment facility.
2. There will be a surprise giveaway.

Also, absolutely unrelated -- there are several kickin' movies I'm dying to see. Soon, soon. I get so worked up about film. And baby ducks. Man, they're cute. Much love to you.

Peace out,

C.A. MacConnell