Seeing Into the Beast

 

Seeing Into the Beast

Until recently, I haven't felt like adopting another cat. See, I had my cat, Kylin, for 17 years before he passed away, and he was definitely a soul mate, and I just couldn't bear to try and replace him. But suddenly, two days ago, I decided to check out a no-kill shelter, thinking I may take another one home.

Well, after I signed all of the paperwork, and the adoption specialist led me back into the rooms, I looked at about 40 cats and kittens -- all sizes and colors -- and there was a clear winner. There weren't two or three that I considered. Just one. Only one. He was black and white with a strange marking on his face that made him look startled, pained, and confused. I picked him up and man, he stunk, and his fur was dull, but he didn't mind being held, and he cried at the door when I left the room. I thought, It's him.

Well, feeling triumphant, I headed back up to the front to inform everyone (I got lost). With a huge grin, I announced, "I like Regis. I want him."

Wide-eyed, the adoption specialist stared at me. Then she looked at the floor.

"Regis," I said.

She stared at the floor some more.

I waited.

Finally, she replied, "Well, for starters, he urinates outside of the litter box. He has many food allergies and skin issues." Then she went on and on with all of his issues. On and on and on.

Apparently, out of 40 cats, I picked the one with the most issues. Of course, I couldn't adopt a cat that urinated all over and such, but I still thought hard about it, laughing to myself. As I walked out of the shelter, I realized that even with cats, I like the bruised ones...because a cat like that would keep it real. A cat like that would know how much love means in a life full of ridiculous, hard shit. A cat like that would understand that despite the strange facial fur and weirdness, the heart is what matters, because this life can be...damn...tough, and I knew he could take it.

He wouldn't mind a wrinkle.

A cat like that would know how to give to a warrior like me. Fuck yeah, bring it on.

Well, the search is still ongoing, but I decided to spend some more time with stinky Regis, giving him some attention. I doubt he'll never leave the shelter, unless someone with a barn gives him a home, but he sure gave me love on a gray December day, and the little guy reminded me of this:  what if, instead of seeing the outsides when we looked at someone, what if we always, always saw the actual bare, raw soul instead? What if one glance at another human revealed all of his/her journey until now. What if each look showed what lies deep inside.

Maybe it is just so. If we really look.

I feel like I'm pretty in tune with my gut when it comes to studying other living creatures. Sometimes I ignore my gut, but later I think, I was right. I should have paid attention. When I look at a dog, I can tell if he's fierce or kind. Same with people. Sometimes, they emit a deep loneliness, a hidden anger, or a strange, fearful type of joy. See that man over there? His whole being speaks of lies. Sometimes, they show purity, depth, goodness, and strength. Sometimes, they give off a sense of serenity and confusion and pain, all...mixed...up.

I suppose it's possible to see into the beast. It's all in the eyes.

Happy New Year's Eve. I hope that you connect with someone's soul today and let it sink in. Some people would rather skim on the surface, and there's a place for that too, but I live for these deeper connections.

Maybe I didn't take little Regis home, but we shared some heart moments and a kiss, and that day, one bruised grape to another, it was just what I needed.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Once Raced Champions

Once Raced Champions

Lebanon, OH

Hi there. Hope you liked the shot. I dig this one, for sure. 💪😀 If you share any of my photos, I ask that you please credit and link to the blog. Thanks! Any help is appreciated.

Peace out,

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Tell the World.

Tell the World

Hope you have a good day. I'm battling depression, man.

C.A. MacConnell

Five Year Anniversary -- GRIFFIN FARM.

 

Hi there. Guess what!????!!!!???? Today is the five-year anniversary of the release of my debut novel, GRIFFIN FARM. 💪🐎 In case you missed it, it's HERE, ready to order, just for you.

Here's a description:  Fast-paced, dramatic, literary, and poetic, C.A. MacConnell's debut novel, GRIFFIN FARM, is a sweeping tale about raging love, murder, addictions, brain disorders, horses, rock and roll, and recovery. Chilling, honest, and undeniably real, the story shows the deeply entangled history of two families, revealing one woman's heroic fight to heal.

A page-turner, a visual, heartfelt mystery and family drama.

Hope you get everything you wanted for Christmas!  All of your hopes and dreams! I wanted my soul mate to show up, but not sure if that's gonna happen. Pretty sure I'm on my own with this one, ha. Well, there's still time. Perhaps I should wear something other than skate shoes and baggy jeans and beanies if I want this to happen. A dress? I dunno, I have a big tat and a big scar on my leg now. I need another tat to cover the scar. A pant suit? Hm, not warm enough. A blanket/onesie/sleeper? Now we're talking. I'm hopeless. Forever the old maid, haha. But I get to see my sis and folks, so I'm stoked.

My wish for you is that you find out more who you truly are, and that you recognize the beauty inside.

 💞

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lost Glove 40

Lost Glove 40

Remember, this collection will be worth millions someday, and you are a first viewer! Ha. 😆💞💞

C.A. MacConnell

Wish List

You, me, inside
the fire light.
Holiday, come.
On days like this,
I miss the left
side of your jawline.
I miss the slightly
larger shape,
the almond
of your right eye.
We will rest
in one simple room.
East or west,
north or south,
we will feel time
for what it is --
low lit, silent
and momentous.
Holiday, come.
Your life
is the only present
on my wish list.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: X

X

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Bridge to Center

Bridge to Center

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Secrets

 Secrets 1

 Secrets 2

 Secrets 3

Secrets 4

I've always felt that the trees hold our secrets. 

Love ↓

C.A. MacConnell↑

Photos: Waterfalls

Just took some nature shots on my new camera. :) Hope they make you feel hope, like they did for me.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Electric

Electric

Lunken Airfield

C.A. MacConnell

Untitled

Just put this together right now. Came out pretty rad. Enjoy. Song, maybe? Yeah. :) <3 C.A.

Untitled

Just ask the fish --
in silence,
life is divine
and some say,
rather delusional,
but all around,
scattered humans
make hell-noise,
wishing on
long or short
tongues
and open lips --
sweaty,
dripping,
steamy ones
and twos,
giant and small --
but no matter
how smooth
any talker's skin
may feel,
no matter the time
of day
or scene of place,
she only
wants...
just ask the fish.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Church, and a Note to You...on Sleep and Book Three.

Church

Cincinnati, OH

Note to You...on Sleep and Book Three

Had to change the blog's look in the middle of the night. I wake up a lot, and I get bored, but I drift back off eventually. When I'm bored and oh so awake, sometimes I wish there was someone to call so we could tell stories or jokes to each other. Stories always make me fall asleep. I love it when someone tells me a story in bed! Makes me feel like a kid again. 

Anyway, I think I'll have to make friends with someone on the other side of the globe so I'll have a friend to call in the middle of the night. 📱

My sleep is one of those things that falls into this category:  it's the best it's gonna be, we'll take what we can get. It's been like this since 2005. When I tell people, they are horrified, and they suggest the following:  melatonin, a sleep mask, meditation tapes, no caffeine, etc. I tried it all, and the result is the same sleep pattern, and most often...much worse. People love to share "sleep help," haha. What they don't realize is that the more I focus on it, and the more I "try" these things (I've tried everything), the worse it gets, so I just don't worry about it. That's my doc's approach as well, ha. I mean, I'm not dead, so I guess it's all right.

On more educated nights, I read the New York Times. On most nights, I look at random sites and muse about big dreams and worry a lot about myself or about people I don't even know or about people I once knew. I once read that Martha Stewart only sleeps 4 hours a night. I'm sure there are others. I'm like 5-6 broken. And then, every few weeks, I have a few crash days, where I'm exhausted. Ha, it's strange, I know.🛌💤😴

Anyway, I hope you like the new blog color scheme, ha, big news, I know.

On another note...well, I've had another rejection come in on Book Three, and it was a big one, so no takers on that monster, although I feel like I have exhausted all of my efforts, and I've put all of the work in for sure. I had a ton of bites on the full manuscript, like always. Just no luck. I have some more feelers out there...some I still haven't heard from, but it's looking like I'll have to...

a) start a new project

or 

b) self publish Book Three

Not sure which way to go. I'm incredibly disappointed and frustrated, as this book is killer, slick, professional, well-crafted, heartily engaging, and nearly flawless, like the other two books. And with the others, everyone who reads them continually professes how much they were page turners...people come up to me nearly every day. I get emails, texts, on and on. All I need is an agent and publisher to take a chance on me. I've been at it for a long time, and it's wearing on me. I act like it doesn't get to me, but all of the rejection eats at a person after a while.

Still, I'm a fighter. And I don't know how I'll go forward yet, but I'll go forward with art in some way.

If you haven't picked up GRIFFIN FARM or THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, now's a great time to support all-original art. Just in time for Christmas...I'd be thrilled if you'd join me on my artistic journey. Pass it on! Word of mouth is my agent. 😍

If you'd like to get on my email list, shoot me a message at camacconnell at gmail dot com. Or you can follow me on Blogger, or you can just bookmark the main page. I'm grateful to YOU for supporting my art. I blog every day, so don't miss out!

Now, sending out love to you and your families. May you have a peaceful day. And always remember to laugh.

💗

C.A. MacConnell

Reception: Apartment 52

Evening.

The Dad says
she should lower her expenses,

but she didn't know

about the Siberian Unicorn

until this night;
she’s finally getting

reception.

How she wants to be

25,000 years ago.
What a beast.

But she can’t see it

now.

She only sees you,
rabbit ears.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lost Glove 39

Lost Glove 39

Miami Meadows

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Turtle

Turtle

:) Love this guy. Hope you like it. Hope to make you smile today. I'm studying my new camera and playing around with it...no shots posted yet, but I'm excited. Be easy on yourself today.

 <3Xo Love to you,
C.A.

Come Down

-- fiction, first version was published in CityBeat Magazine's 'Living Out Loud' column

Come Down

I woke to these sounds -- workmen, storm sirens, and the wind testing my window, the steady rattle, the fight of thin panes against the frame. Below, men hammered, and across the room, my window spoke; it moaned, squeaked, and knocked, trapped inside the wall of my cramped efficiency. Screenless and stubborn, it was stuck shut.

I glanced through the glass, looking down below, but few people walked into the alley. I sat for hours, trying to write, looking for bodies and stories. Besides the workmen, no one appeared, and they never glanced my way. Only relentless pounding and storming. At war with sound, I stared at the computer. Nothing. For a long time, a blank trip, my fingers suspended over keys, hanging there.

At dusk, when I peered out the window again, someone entered the alley. Hands in his pockets, he stared at his feet. Then he looked up. His hair, brown, was a mess. He was small, thin. His blue sweater burned a neon blur through the shadows. His jeans were the borrowed kind, gray. He squinted to see me.

The window moved, seemed to sing. I eased closer. Bang, knock, went the workmen. Crack, smash, went the storm.

Come down, the stranger mouthed at me. Shrugging, he smiled, and his thick lips spread; his face was all teeth.

I pressed my forehead against the glass.

He waited, wet and mute.

I thought about practical things -- feed cats, clean, try to write. But the window shook, and when I touched it, it whisper-screamed. Or maybe I did.

In a blue-gray turn, pivoting on one foot, he left. Just like that.

The workmen sawed trees, demolished skyscrapers, and blew up my world. I forgot to sleep or eat. I reminded myself to blink. My hearing heightened. The hammering shook the walls. I wondered if they'd cave in, collapse. But I wouldn't leave. I watched.

Three nights later, he reappeared in the alley. Pulling his sweater tight around his middle, he mouthed, Come down.

The sky drooled rain on the roof, smothering the building and all inside.

Shifting in his shoes, he waited, drenched.

I thought about stripping him dry and clean. I thought about kissing something. For two years, I had been stuck inside blank pages. Here, I studied the glass cracks. I imagined the window breaking, my body falling, sucked out by the wind, a leech. The wind's pitch grew higher. Whale sounds. One floor down, I could fall into him gently. No suicide. 

He shrugged and left.

I guessed that was goodbye. I felt nausea beyond butterflies. I was good at forgetting. The queen of amnesia. I went out for smokes. Then, back in the building hallway, I felt a draft. I opened my apartment door. Someone. In there.

His back turned, he seemed at home, sitting on my floor. Then he whipped around, looking at me, startled, as if I were the intruder.

In our holding places, we were silent, divided by the broken glass scattered across my ground.

Expressionless, he stared with dark eyes, his seeing holes. For a moment, I thought I saw behind them into the nerves, the song of his scattered mind. There, I saw my own damaged mind. Two years, no touch. Nothing. Inside, trapped in the lone, rhythmic hammering. Deeply.

"You got in," I said.

He nodded. "Fire escape. Broke the window...with a rock," he said. His voice was airy, with slight pauses in between words. He smiled, nervously. "Sorry...you wouldn't...come down."

I moved closer, standing above him, hands on hips. I shook.

He grabbed my arm.

All skin was slippery.

I thought of practical things -- call cops, play dead, shout profanities, but my voice was throat-buried. With my free hand, I picked up a piece of glass. A weapon, just in case. I imagined cutting him. I imagined the way the blood would spread a thick slide across his hand as I freed myself. I imagined his generic, hurt expression.

No workmen chattered. No wind whistled. But outside air drifted through the space where the window used to be, and I felt the urge to kiss his small hand, the hand that broke it, the violent, flawless, nameless hand. I grabbed his damp, blue sweater and hung on, dropping the glass.

He reached toward my eyes. I guess to touch the lids. Yes.

Quiet.

Everywhere, hands.

His sweater, the blue shade, so elusive. If I tried hard enough, maybe I could see through the color straight into his chest, his throat, his brain, a brain that held this new draft, the broken glass, the story of two nameless beings touching shared, broken minds and broken space, one stranger lost in an alley, hammering through vacancy, shattering it, filling it. The story of lifting each other, inside and up.

God, I hope the room is still there when we come down.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Photo: ?

?

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. A friend gave me a camera! A miracle. I've wanted a good camera for so long. Merry Christmas to me! What a miracle. Looking forward to learning about it. Hope you have a great day. XO, CA

You Will Never Forget the Ride.

Hows about some all-original art for Christmas?

I created, wrote, edited, designed, and promoted book signings for these two novels, GRIFFIN FARM (2013) and THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR (2017).

I even took the Anchor's cover photo and designed the Griffin cover.

Whew!

Click on titles for descriptions and purchase details. So easy.

I'm ultra-proud of these works. What do I hear from the readers? I just turned page after page. I couldn't put it down.

No lie.

Join me today on my artistic journey. You will never forget the ride.

Love ↓

C.A. MacConnell↑

Photo: Lions

 

Lions

Cincinnati Zoo

C.A. MacConnell

Migration

Hi there. Just doing some poetry warm-up, fresh from me to you. Hope you dig it. May your day be full of peace. <3, C.A.

Migration

You, the strange
Hawk,

Live on the wind;

You bring the glide.
You bring the climb,
The vision,
And the furious dive.

How I've always wanted
To be a flier,
To give up and give in,
To let the air and the sky

Keep me

Alive,

To steal time,
Swallowing up

All distant

Shapes --
The crawlers, and the motionless --
Like a wild fire.

Each year, you, a thief,
Shake your head and rise up.

Quick

and nearly silent,
but for the tree calls.

Perhaps, with weather,
Comes
A sudden message.

Safe, I imagine,
Nesting,
Looking backwards
In the pine.

Human now.

I keep this
Secret,
A curled-up talon.
It is yours and mine,
Hanging on a wing.

Black licorice
and dark chocolate.
Here and there, I step
On the heels
Of your shoes.

Hurry,
Fall.

Each year,
How I worry
About this grounded

Body.

My feet crack.
My knees crack.

I look to you for

Wheat
Pancakes.

But sometimes I see myself
Teaching flight.

Sometimes I see myself
Feeding
A surprise child.

C.A. MacConnell

The Moment is...Home

Good morning. See, one of my favorite movies is Waking the Dead, a 2000 drama directed by Keith Gordon, starring Jennifer Connelly and Billy Crudup. The screenplay, by Robert Dillon, is based on Scott Spencer's 1986 novel by the same name. It's an intense, fascinating, tragic love story packed with acting chemistry and witty writing.

Stay with me. This is not a mere film review, although that's hidden in here somewhere.

To me, the brilliance of Waking the Dead is the result of perfect casting; these two actors are so mesmerizing together, it's impossible to believe the result is merely a film. The first time I saw it, I never stopped to think, This is fiction. Rather, I was completely engaged. Whenever I see either one of these actors in a magazine or in another movie, I still think of that film, and I wonder about what it was like to create such a passionate, severely emotional beast.

My heart seeks out the depth, the sincere spirit, and the noise. And creations like this film bring me back to who I really wish to be.

Off the top of my head, some other films affected me this way as well -- The Judge, Into the Wild, Dances with Wolves, She's So Lovely, Maudie, The Four Feathers, Avatar, Cinema Paradisio, Chaplin, and Ray, to name a select few.

What do they all have in common? A startlingly unique, soulful edge, a mix of tragedy and love, and a fervor for all things passionate. The ache, the joy, the celebration of cavernous and mountainous life.

Amen.

Great music, an ancient landscape painting, or a soulful photograph will put me in this soulful place as well; I get lost in it, and it centers me in the present, reminding me that all we really have is the time and space surrounding us...right here, right now.

And that, to me -- the inescapable, precious moment when I realize how lucky I am to be feeling, living, growing, and alive -- is divine.

The moment is here. The moment is real. You and I are sharing this together.

The moment is...home.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

The Struggle, the Bigger Plan

The Struggle, the Bigger Plan

One friend's mother had a stroke. Another friend is back in the hospital after recovering from a heart attack. Yet another girl's fiance just passed away from an overdose. Yesterday, as I was listening to others' stories, I started to think about the trials we all face, and it really put my life into perspective.

I teared up a little.

Through hearing others speak, I was reminded of the way our pains cement us together, how we create hope for one another, and how the spirit inside of all of us creeps out when we need it the most.

Let me back up. Some years ago, when I rode horses professionally, much of the time, I was focused on my riding -- getting better, achieving, helping my students rise up, and the like. But after many years in the business, when my boss retired, and I later lost my job due to illness, the real truth began to unfold. I never missed the horse shows at all. Becoming a winner was no longer important. Instead, I greatly missed my boss, my mentor and friend. I missed his deep, rumbling laugh. And I missed all of my students, especially the girl who couldn't remember her course when her ADD flared up. And I missed the times when I would watch the horses run in the fields. Free. When it was all gone, I didn't miss the trainer status or achievements. Rather, I missed the connections, the spirits, and the many forms of love hidden within the barn walls.

Loss, tumultuous times, heartache -- these things showed me what was really important in life.

And these life changes continue to wake me up right here, right now.

For the past few months, I've been focused on finding a steady income. There have been many, many continuous setbacks -- one after another it seems. But after I heard my friends talking, I realized that the job status wasn't nearly as important as my family's love, my sobriety, and the number of lessons I've processed over this time period, all the while maintaining my integrity and strength. I'm here, I have food and a safe place to live. It's rocky, but so what. I'm worried about my vision, but I may just need glasses. I'm...all...right. Loss happens, but things change. They always do. Always. Before I know it, I'll look back on this time as a necessary part of my journey.

Before I know it, I'll be sitting on the couch, laughing at the stress.

And who knows -- maybe someone will be laughing with me.

Yesterday, when I was walking against the wind (really struggling, it was powerful), a beautiful hawk flew right in front of my path. If it weren't for the wind holding me back, I never would've seen this magnificent creature.

Sometimes the struggle is there to help us navigate the bigger plan.

This morning, my heart goes out to you, especially if your struggle is fierce; it seems these days that many are having hard times. I hope that through my words, I can provide a little hope for you, in the way that people have done for me so many times before.

I have a friend, J., who is blind. When I see him, it never fails; he's always cracking jokes -- making sarcastic remarks about himself and others. I've never seen him without a smirk, and he always delivers quick one-liners. He never feels sorry for himself; he just carries on about his day, keeping it all rather cheerful and unique. The light inside of him touches me every time, reminding me that we can all play a part in the world's hope.

I will try to see the divine spirit inside others today. God, higher power, Buddha, hawks, whatever you call that "something greater" out there, let it be known that it is there for you and me -- within the trees, the planets, and the people all around -- as long as we look.

C.A. MacConnell

💞💕

Photo.

Hi there. Just a cool shot for you today. Man, I slept in...never do that! Yesterday, I saw my aunt sing with Camerata at St. Rose, which is an amazing church. It brought me to tears. XO In a good way. What talent...the sound was mesmerizing...divine. There's another show today, if you're interested. Check out the site.

Have a beautiful day,
C.A. MacConnell

The 'In-between' Girl

I have another talent, besides sneaking into the mosh pits. There's a strange side of me that's sort of like a hidden...matchmaker...shall we say. See, if you date me for 4-6 months, you are sure to get married within 4-6 months -- not married to me, but after we break up, you'll usually move away and marry someone else. It happens every time.

Dating me is a surefire way to find your real true love -- not me.

Back in 2000, after I broke up with my boyfriend, he moved to Lithuania, and then got married soon after. Then there was the one who moved to New York and married a girl from Asia. There's the one who moved to Costa Rica and got married. The girl who turned straight and got married soon after dating me. The hippie who moved to Montana and got married not long after me. The rocker who married the Brazilian right after dating me...soon, I might add; I really was good with that one. The friend turned boyfriend who got married right after dating me.

The list goes on and on and on. All of them get married within 6 months. It happens every time. Do I mind? Not really. Montana, New York, and Brazil got to me a little, but it was cake, really.

Truly, I'm ultra-independent, and it leaks out.

So if you're having trouble with you're dating life, just date me for 4-6 months, and I'll be sure to groom you to find the right one to marry. Soon. See, I'm the "in between" girl, the girl who fills in the gap for the right one to slide on in. I've never been married; I've never even lived with anyone, except for my roommate in college and why she put up with me, I have no idea, but we sure had fun.

I'm sure there's a "therapeutic term" for this, but I'm not digging. Do I hope for true love? Sure I do. Do I want to get married? For true love, yes, but not just to do it. I want the soul connection. I want my hawk, my wolf, my mate for life, of course.

I hope, secretly. But most of the time, I just do my thing. Shrug.

No worries; it's good to know one's talents. Now why haven't I ever been invited to any of the weddings? I feel like I've played a part. A big part. Actually, I should be praised at the weddings. Perhaps I should even receive wedding gifts. Yes, send them on over, friends. Please include a receipt.

C.A. MacConnell