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8/31/2018

The Lost Gloves Collection: A Silent Film of Sorts.

The story of the lost gloves. Something we see every day. Put them together, and a story can unfold through images. ;) This is my "Lost Gloves Collection," a silent film of sorts, ha. Genius, or just creepy, not sure, haha. 
Enjoy, C.A.
































 

C.A. MacConnell

8/29/2018

Today,...You...Can Make a Difference!

 

Both of these novels are geared toward two of my passions -- mental health advocacy and addiction awareness. I believe that education is the foundation of recovery in both areas, and these books show a diverse representation of characters whose lives are affected by disease...but they also show how treatment and recovery can change and save lives.

Want to make a difference? Read, educate, pass it on!



Thank YOU for reading,
C.A. MacConnell

8/27/2018

8/26/2018

Milk Carton

Black Horse
Camp Dennison, OH

Milk Carton

Proof of life:
Tangled hair, twisted throw.
The animal and I,
We wake.

Strange captor calls from the
Family.

Now, stretching. True, I'm no brow-beauty.
Some other missing girl will
Bring the ransom
Home.
She'll be a longer living wall fly.
Some say she'll stick.

Ground coffee, look here, I make the black
Law. I admit, it's a little

Strong.

Call the shepherds. They know
Blood.
Find the sign,
The lost shoe,
The search team, the one
Phone call,
The right or wrong
Words. Relatives know how to make a
Deal. Someone finds a bad sock,

A trace.

Hero, empty or full, don't forget the suit
case.

C.A. MacConnell

8/22/2018

Survivors, the Voice

Shoe Repair
Milford, OH

When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.

-- Chief Seattle, Duwamish

Survivors, the Voice

For a long time, I've felt that my mission is to travel and give talks. When I'm speaking in front of others, sharing my story, sharing my experience, trying to help and educate, I feel alive.

I write these books with that mission in mind. Each day, I hope and pray that I'll be able to go on a book tour -- large or small -- and give talks all over the nation. In the past, I gave advocacy talks all over the region, and it was so rewarding.

Meet people, connect with them, share life stories, yes.

I feel that what I've been through is tragic, joyful, miraculous, and unique. But isn't everyone's story a miracle, really? Some journeys are more tumultuous than others -- sure -- but we all have a voice.

When it comes to expression from the heart, there's no coach. No pep talk. But when I tell someone that at 24-5 years old, I had to relearn how to write and read due to a debilitating, catatonic depression, it can be a powerful tale that creates wonder and hope. Because here I am now, writing to you, writing books.

So what do I have to lose? Nothing at all. I keep trying. And if you're going through a rough spot, remember...as they say...don't give up before the miracle happens.

How can you use your unique, miraculous voice today? I will if you will.

That is my dream, and I'm sticking to it.

C.A. MacConnell

8/20/2018

The Viewing Room

Abby

The Viewing Room

Lips locked shut, you ride by the windows, staring inside. Your eyes -- blank
and round, like plastic. You are quick, moving down the ring side, your body

shifting in time to your horse's tail. Maybe you look to see why I'm resting
when there's work to be done -- bodies to groom, legs to bandage, whiskers

to clip. Maybe you look to see how I sit -- legs crossed, eating a small, packed
dinner way past the time. Maybe you want me to smile back through the thick,

shatterproof panes. Not the slightest grin spreads across your face. No gait breaks
in your horse's stride. You lean down to study the neck, and the green gelding

gives in, dips his nose down, and loosens the grip of his teeth on the bit. You spin
in smaller circles, turning your head, watching me rise. I place my fingers flat

against the cold glass, fixing my palm in a still, frozen wave, my skin blending
with window. I press the surface. I imagine pushing through, but I bring the hand

back down, swallowing the last of my late night meal, accidentally biting my lip.
Before closing, you halt and look in again. Maybe you see me lower my head,

chin against chest, hands folded in that look of feeling full. I breathe and rise.
Lifted, I slide up and out of my seat in the viewing room, giving it up.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo.

?
Film, Nikon
Northern Ohio

C.A. MacConnell

8/19/2018

This Woman's Vision


Juliet, Pyramid Hill Sculpture Park
This Woman's Vision

In grade school, I knew a part-albino girl who was legally blind. When she tried to read, she leaned over the desk and pressed her face right against the paper, straining to see each and every letter. Most of the time, she was virtually silent because undoubtedly, much of her energy was spent struggling to see. On the playground, she sat on a log, slowly peeled an orange, and stared off into the distance. Every single day, she sat there alone. Here and there, someone would reach out to her, but she only responded in whispers. She wasn't that shy; she just couldn't see who was speaking to her. In class, even if I approached her and stood nearly touching her, she couldn't tell who I was until she heard my voice. Back then, whenever I looked at her, I often wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing the world through voices and shapes.

Years later, I had to take my cat to the vet, and my regular vet was booked, so I drove across town to see another one. When we arrived, they shuffled us into Room 2, and we waited for the assistant to come in. Minutes later, a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with snowy, waist-length, thick, blond hair entered the room. Her eyes were round and perfect, a see-through blue, and she stood tall, holding a clip board. On her left hand -- a huge wedding ring, a shiny diamond made for a classy lady. And she did indeed appear classy and smart. When she smiled, her entire face glowed. And so did her hands. She was absolutely stunning.

And then I smiled, realizing that it was the same girl who was nearly blind in grade school. I was floored. There she was, looking right at me, not missing a beat, working at saving animals' lives. As we talked about the cat, I assumed that somewhere along the line, she'd had eye surgery, and her vision had been restored. She seemed thriving, happy, outgoing, and ever so free, but since she had never been able to truly see me in grade school, she didn't recognize me at all.

But then there was this moment -- she blinked hard, shutting her eyes, listening to me speak, and I could tell that all at once, she knew my voice. Lighting up, she smiled brightly, opened her eyes, and took some notes, wishing me on my way.

As I drove home, the vision of her stayed with me, building a presence somewhere in my heart and mind. Here was that shy, lonely girl I once knew. Now, she was suddenly transformed into a sharp, confident, glowing woman. I felt my chest fill up at the thought of the change. I thanked the universe for my sight, for her sight, and for the passage of time, which can sometimes show how miracles develop, grow, and radiate outward.

Back in the day, such a quiet girl, one who would seem to slip through the cracks. But in the end, sometimes it's the quietest ones who shine the most. Sometimes, behind the scenes, without barely even a whisper, without the faintest desire to be seen, without any need for recognition, one humble person can save lives.

C.A. MacConnell

8/16/2018

It All Just Works Out


It All Just Works Out

When strange things happen -- like loss or expense or both -- why does it seem like these occurrences always happen at once, as if a steamroller of setbacks takes over one's life?

Like the spider, from time to time, I may get taken away by the wind or the strike of someone's hand. But the spider always rebuilds. Always.

Constantly, people lose, struggle, and rebuild.

This month, I lost a job for reasons out of my hands really, the A/C in my car broke, I needed a new cabin air filter and wipers, I had to have hours of ($$$$$$) dental work (with no insurance and no money in my account), I had a gazillion interviews (wearing the same exact outfit, my only interview outfit, to each one), my toilet broke, and I had to have a whole new one installed, I lost you and you and you, my friend went in the ICU, and on and on. Maybe small-ish things, but it seemed like they kept adding up, and I admit, my anxiety latched right on to the tangled pattern of mishaps, and I was on fire with the fear.

To the fear, I say, fuck you. (Call me Melody Beattie on speed, ha. I love her writing, actually).

Anyway, sure, some of this process was messy for me. Yeah, I wore a uniform of men's shirts and Adidas pants...hell, I always dress like that. But a wise woman I know always says, "It all just works out, one way or another; it just works out." This statement repeatedly comes from a woman who has dealt with horrific grief; some years back, she lost her son to murder.

Amazing, the comebacks people have. When I think of others and see the damn heart-wrenching happenings they all experience in their tricky lives, and then I see the strength they show when fighting their way through the grief and hardship maze, I realize that my wise friend is right. Things may not work out how I planned or hoped, but they do, indeed, work out, and if I allow it, a web of peace and love rolls right on back in.

Peace out,
C.A. MacConnell

8/15/2018

Photo: Skater, Devou Park

Skater
Devou Park

Hope you're happy, joyful, and free, and maybe even a little frisky, like me.
C.A. MacConnell

8/12/2018

Spanish Moss

Spanish Moss
Marrero, LA

All of our writings have their roots in poetry. -- C.A. MacConnell

Spanish Moss


No gutter man.
The day we met,
swimming straight out of the bayou,
you shone.
Back then,
wearing a hand-me-down sweater
with thread
made from Spanish moss,
your lights came
straight from sun and iris.
And now,
inside the wait,
I am the perfect
shade of you.

C.A. MacConnell