Limousine Girl, 1989

Sweat-drenched, once again,
her body became
the rain to the bed,
her sudden nightly windshield.
Engine starting,
she stretched to rise,
holding her racing head,
shifting into
her fake-tan,
fake-nail,
fake-face role
with vehicles, run sheets, and chauffeurs,
and she was never anything more
than a stuck car door,
and she was never anything more
than a stay-at-home groupie.
Fifteen, going on twenty-seven,
she arranged rides
for businessmen and stars,
making sure the drivers
remembered the ice,
watching her pager
vibrate and flash,
later collecting backstage cash,
shaking hands with managers,
when they had no idea
that Mom was her ride that day,
when she nodded, frowned,
and made a note of it
when the man in shades,
the big-toothed contact,
mentioned that one car
didn't have the right juice.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Today, I saw a hawk fighting a crow in the air. The hawk seemed to win. I admit I was cheering for him.

Photos.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo.

 

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. One of the photos that inspired The House of Anchor -- my second book. THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR is a fast-paced, intense, literary mystery set in Seattle in the nineties. Sometimes dangerous and often humorous, this novel is a deep, epic adventure packed with vivid dialogue. The slick use of voice is fresh, addictive, and engaging; it'll stick with you. Skaters, hippies, musicians, grunge, scheming, street life -- it's all there. :) Check it out! <3 C.A.

Happy Holidays!

 

This is what I'll probably be doing. Ha. 
Love, C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Short Vine, Nineties.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Story of You

Hiya. Just wrote this right now, actually. Fresh from my tricky brain. Deep little sucker. Actually made me choke up a little. Hope you like it, C.A.

Story of You

In silence, in mystery, in between music notes, buried within
crafted, poetic lines, resting inside the space, the air filling
the collective movement of a tragic or comic dance, smashed

underneath the colors of a gifted paintbrush, life takes a turn,
becoming divine. Some say, rather delusional. All around,
scattered humans interrupt the quiet, making hell-noise,

wishing on sharp or smooth tongues, making gaping holes
with open lips -- sweaty, dripping, steamy ones and twos,
kneeling down or cursing, shouting or rejoicing within each

personal scene, whether magnificent or miniscule, harrowing
or revered, and then, suddenly, waking to the damp, cardboard
box. But no matter the time of day or scene of place, no matter

if the dogs stop fighting, or if the tree is obese, emaciated,
twisted, or hollow, eventually, any bullied child breaks free,
and no matter how flawless or wrecked a talker's skin seems,

the instantaneous, painfully awaited flash, the careful angle,
the shot, the strange oils blending, turning into legendary
faces, the perfectly executed succession of movement,

the instant when a voice halts, changing tone, the space
hidden inside these mathematic, infantile, godly lines,
the gap between canines and leaves, and the discreet story

of you and me, lives forever.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Reporter

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Relentless.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Rain Walk

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Parade Girl.

 

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.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Untitled.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Horse Sense.

Mornings, I look out my window
For the orange and black
Stray cats,
For all of the colors, and the
Noise,
For the tumultuous
Weather,
For a rest from my racing brain,
For the time of
Day, and the hawks,
Even though
It's not their season.
Sometimes I wonder about
Heaven --
If it lives and breathes
Within an ear,
A tail,
A claw, or maybe inside the
Darkest aisle.
When I was sixteen, my bay horse
Was simply,
God.
There were the others,
And then there was him.
I guess
I know these panes.
I guess I know that he was.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Meet Here.

 

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. This photo was taken when I was doing research for THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR...my second book, a novel set in Seattle in the nineties. It's a mystery, and it's a wild ride. Secret:  this book was so much fun for me to write. The dialogue is so slick. Check it out here.

24 yrs today.

Love, C.A.

Photo: Mechanic.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Girl, Sayler Park.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Hollywood Morning.

1
Around eleven a.m., she rises,
leaving the covers. Right on
schedule, she creeps away
to the kitchen. First time
making pancakes. Wrapped
up tight, he is still half-

2
awake, bedroom resting.
He hears the batter hit
the frying pan. He hears
her swear at the spill.
He hears the hot surface
spit and settle. He smells
the slight, accidental burn.

3
Soon, he stretches, facing
her buttered meal, her test,
her syrup, her small spoons
and dull forks, and under
the blinding table lights,
they echo-chew. Sometimes,

4
fights happen. Voices carry
over hardwood floors,
but after the silence, later,
someone or the world
gives in. Pulling his robe
close, he thinks hard-fast,
trying to focus, bringing back

5
details. Last night, she whitened
her teeth and slept like a baby.
Garbage night. Like always,
when she rested her head
on the pillow, he kissed her
first. He is the quiet type.

C.A. MacConnell

Holding.

In loving, some say I travel
Off-road. Maybe it's my job
To hitch far, leaving the Earth.

Holding.

Maybe I'm a violet, lone guest
In a starched-white, rich diner
Made for the others -- the lucky --

Unattached,

Searching for the last, yellow
and crimson Roman Café.
I could make more muscles,

Or zero-slim down, posing
For the always-perfect shot,
Eating and living and moving

Solely

Through the elusive curvature
Of light. Someone stuck sideways,
Happily lost, hiding here. Someone

Big

Like you.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Kid, Skate

 

C.A. MacConnell

Crisis of Faith

Recently, I went through a period that was a "crisis of faith," I'd say. Truly, I wasn't sure about this earth or anyone around me. Nothing, no one, no scene was movie-worthy. With all of my being, I didn't want to be here anymore. I've had other times like this, and I've trooped through it, but this one hit me with a force; it seemed urgent, powerful, deadly, and mean. At one point, I thought to myself, I know what Satan is. Satan is me, this, these thoughts, right now.

I cried, I raged, I walked, I carried on. And although they were fierce, I began to half-listen to the dark thoughts in my mind. And then I told people. I told them the stark nature of the morose details. I told people I could trust. I spat it all out. I told them every little dirty secret. I spared no thought or bloody scene. And I took the right actions, despite my wild thinking. For me, that's one of the hardest experiences in life -- to act right, even though the thinking is tumultuous. It takes courage, strength. It's a beast.

Ironically, while I was thinking this way, stuck in my black hole, I went to some movies. I went to groups. I saw doctors. I went for unenjoyable walks. I took pictures. And I helped out on a Suicide Awareness Walk. The whole time I was there, I had the thoughts, probably strikingly similar to those who were actually gone. And then I looked around, and I saw the families, the mothers, the fathers, the sisters, the brothers, the friends. I saw people of all sexual orientations, all races, and on and on. I saw the care, the love, the...dare I say it...hope.

That's what it takes sometimes...putting one foot in front of the other, regardless of the thoughts. I've been through a lot of difficult things in this life, but for me, the hardest trials have definitely involved those within my own mind.

I'm a 47-year-old woman with a master's degree, with four published books, no kids, never been married, working at a drug store, facing several health issues head-on, with scant possessions, and I have no idea what to do with these bills. At the moment, I have stitches in my face.

I guess I could look at it like that.

But after all of this worry, regret, self-loathing, and pain, one morning, something changed. Something changed dramatically. My focus shifted. Suddenly, I woke up, I held my head high, and I realized this: I am a fucking warrior. Only a warrior can act right while feeling so dark, continuing to fight against two chronic, lifelong illnesses with all her might. Only a warrior can choose to live in spite of internal Hell. Only a warrior can stay sober one day at a time and prevail until she sees the light.

And the light, indeed, comes. It always returns. Just hang on.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Horse Trainer.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos of the Day.

Here are some shots I took this morning. Kinda spooky. I like spooky. Hopefully you do as well...C.A.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Jeffrey and Bella

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Untitled.

 

C.A. MacConnell

I came upon this today, and I thought, now that's awesome, and I snapped the shot. I can't stop looking at it. This is really fucking amazing.

Girl, Sayler Park.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Gary, Green Tortoise, Seattle.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Drummer.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Snake

 

C.A. MacConnell

Book Signing, THE HOLE. Sitwell's Coffee.

 

Photo by Lisa Storie. Me, as my character, Lucas Stillwell.

Well, I'm happy to report that last night's book signing (at Sitwell's Coffee in Clifton) was a huge success! 

Thanks to author Douglas W. Milbern and the other authors for including me! And super thanks to Flo Garayoa, Sitwells' new owner, who opened up the space for us. Hey, I sold a slew of books, saw some old friends that made my heart sing (Lisa Storie and Steve Lansky) and hung out in Sitwell's, which looks exactly the same! My old stomping grounds back in the nineties....and on and on and on all the way to today. <3 Man. 

So much history there.

Made some new friends too. All around, lovely. Thank you so much to Sitwell's ... and thank you to ALL who came out and supported the art! 

If you missed it, all four of my books are available on Amazon. Just search "C.A. MacConnell" on Amazon Books. Or click on the photos of the book covers on this page. 

Also, if you weren't there, you missed seeing me perform in a beard (see above photo). My friend Lisa Storie wore a beard as well. If you know of venues that would be cool with this kind of debauchery, please let me know. Email on Bio.

Hope you are well and happy. Love, C.A.

Photo: Curley.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Cleveland

 

C.A. MacConnell

Higher Brow.

We were ready to face them.

How casual we were – leaning back in heated seats,

listening to the radio's low hum, riding in the strange
car. You were driving carefully – not too fast,

not too slow, taking the turns lightly, teaching me
how to settle and sink, to welcome the ache of calm.
We were making it. On the way to the most crucial

event, lit up with talent fire, I looked out the window,
and I had a vision of what the packed party might be like –
pretty lights, round, clean, white tables, the rich, organic

smells, and a thousand flutes – glasses upon glasses
shining at flashes, and when they touched, they hit,
screaming with cheer. Everywhere, flawless smiles,

sharp shadows, quick hands gripping microphones,
dresses reaching ankles or knees, tailored pants, fitted
jackets, and the difficult height of heels. We were ready

to face them. For weeks, we had planned the perfect
timing, the shifting flame of our long-awaited arrival.
Then, suddenly, still on the road, you looked at me

once, twice, three times, then shrugged and said,
You know, we don't have to go, and I nodded, smiling,
staring straight ahead, then looking back at you,

studying your cheek, loving your fine, cut jaw,
loving the way the higher brow hugged your right
eye, loving the way that some days, the lid seemed

purple, and we both laughed, and we couldn't stop,
and again, the road, the life, the laughter, the costumes,
the sky lights, and the newly burning stars, were ours.

We were ready to face them.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Hope to see you FRIDAY at Sitwell's Coffeehouse in Clifton. <3 8pm. Bunch of authors reading. Cool! Hope you're well and happy. Love, C.A.

Photo: Church.

Heya. I really do love this one. Reminds me of the swing set we had when I was little. Happened upon this church festival once, by accident, and I spotted these kids there. Loved the excitement on their faces. The moment. The moment is everything. It reminded me of that notion.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Parade

 

Heya. Don't forget to come to Sitwell's November 12, 8pm. I'll be reading, along with some other folks. I'll have books of course. Good times. Also, check out my cool page on Amazon. Just search, "C.A. MacConnell Amazon." Presto. <3

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Builder.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Book Signing Event!

 

Hi! I've been invited to join this event. So excited. An author extravaganza! I'll be there, reading some, signing books, chillin. Hope you can come out!

Love to you,

C.A.

Photo: Boat Ride.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Untitled.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos from Yesterday. :)

 

Wow, a breathtaking day. Saw one hawk. I'll be seeing more soon. :) Hope you're well.

Christine.

Photo: Billy

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Bicycles, 1&2.

 

Heya. Hope you like the shots.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Fly.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Four Sisters

 

I feel this is one of my best. Took this shot at Sharon Woods some winters ago. Just happened to capture the wonderful mix -- the sisters taking a walk through the tricky ice and snow. Love the "bonding feeling" amidst the cold world. It warms my heart. Hope you like it.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Pride Parade, Cincinnati.

 

C.A. MacConnell