When your heart burns, ask yourself, What if this is all there is? Right now, what if all that you have -- where you work, where you live (whether you are single, married, or in between), what car you drive, the car that's in the shop, your bus ticket, your bathtub, this sky, these stars -- what if it is all that you will ever have? What if you'll never be able to fix that hole in the wall? What if you are sitting on millions, but you are always alone? What if this is all there is? Is this acceptable?
Yes, "they" say.
It has to be, because in this moment, this is reality. One can accept it or feel utterly defeated. Which one to choose today? Choose to live inside a world of frustration or do the best damn job while cleaning disgusting feed buckets. Speedily shop for the woman who lives on mansion hill. Maybe fingernails and palms are black. Suit up, show up, do the best job, right? In this moment, that is all one can do. Is this acceptable?
Fuck no, I say.
Because, there is more. Dream like a fire tearing through kindling. Dream like a warrior heading home to see the child he's never seen. Dream like a girl sitting in her closet, waiting for that one phone call. Dream like no one has ever dreamt before. Dream that motherfucker who told you not to dream will take a cross country trip and learn how to dream himself. When your heart burns, ask it where it wants to go. Dream like a windstorm ripping through the tallest trees, and know that each step you take is closer to this dream coming true. Work hard. And dream that true love is coming, because magic makes you feel alive, and life is too short to feel any. other. way.
I see my church – hawks and stars.
And then make sure that the feed buckets are spotless, and the order is perfect, because you'll want to leave a trace, a footprint, and a closing scene when you do this -- walk out the door and head for the sky.
C.A. MacConnell
4/30/2022
4/29/2022
All for Show: Full Circle
A funny little essay I wrote a while back...hope you like it...me, always working hard, intensely, regardless, ha...
All for Show: Full Circle
I was little, in the four-foot-tall range, and I was supposed to ride this small, chestnut gelding, a schoolhorse named Blazen Two Socks, who was a pretty good fit for my stubby legs. Usually, he wasn't too difficult to maneuver. The horse was appropriately named, since he had a pronounced white blaze and two white socks. He wasn't complicated, but the little guy definitely wasn't my favorite, and I think he sensed that. Late Night, a calm, sweet, dark bay gelding, was my favorite, but he didn’t do jumping lessons for some reason (probably for good reason).
Now, schoolhorses at Red Fox Stables were usually extremely reliable; the staff was ultra-experienced and utterly careful, but when dealing with horses, of course there was always the unknown factor. Seems that old Blazen had a few secret tricks stored up in his compact body.
We had been practicing for weeks, and I had the course down, so I thought. The day before the show, we had a "schooling session," aka, practice. Waiting behind the indoor ring, the students sat on their horses, checking stirrup length, tightening girths, trying to stay still. No one wanted his/her horse to shift too close to someone else's. No one wanted a horse fight. Still, horses pinned back their ears here and there, flattening them, looking tough. And yeah, some creatures let out half-hearted kicks and squeals. The people didn't talk much.
I was mute, and as was my custom, I was way too intense.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I cantered around the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
I held on until Blazen jumped over a huge ditch, and my little body went flying right into the ditch. Like a cartoon character, I sat there shaking my head, confused and embarrassed. I checked my arms and legs, moving everything. My body seemed to be working all right, so I sat there, chilling in the ditch, covered with mud. Like a wild mustang stallion, Blazen ran off to freedomland. No worries. Someone tracked him down before he got flattened by a semi-truck barreling down Route 50.
The instructors mulled it over, and I guess they felt sorry for me, so they decided to give me a new horse for the show day. Old Blazen went back to his stall where he belonged, but that guy had a shit-eating grin on his muzzle. The instructors informed me of this: the new plan was for me to ride Redford -- not because he was awesome, but because no one wanted to ride him. On the ground, Redford was known for being mean as hell. Like Blazen, Redford was also appropriately named; he was a strange pinkish, godawful red color. Part draft horse and part dinosaur, Redford was damn ugly and huge. Well, his head was huge, and it was definitely out of proportion to his body. To me, since I was so vertically challenged, he looked like a red monster. I'd heard that Redford bit people when they tried to tack him up, but I knew that once I got up on his back, there shouldn't be too many problems other than that he was super slow. Usually, a rider had to start up a jet plane under Redford's ass just to get him to trot.
Usually.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So, the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, was the last instruction I heard. As always, I mustered up all of my intensity and followed directions. Well, I suppose I did a good job of getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. Desperately, I hung on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
At a hunter horse show, a course is usually comprised of eight jumps; that usually means four "lines." A "line" means one jump followed by another, and there are a certain number of canter strides that you must do in between the jumps in the line. Well, where we were supposed to do five strides, we did four (or a little less) each time, which means that we were going so fast, Redford took up some amazing ground. I finished the jumps, and we exited the ring like champs, but I was still clutching his mane. My fingers were bluish.
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
"Wow, that was fast! Ha, ha, ha."
"I've never seen Redford go that fast, ever."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my."
"For the love of god, what was that?"
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
No one had ever seen Redford go that fast, and I don't think anyone had ever seen any of the schoolhorses go that fast either. One of the barn workers held Redford while I joined my parents in the barn lounge; they were cheering like crazy. See, they thought the whole point was to be the fastest, and they assumed that I was a riding prodigy. But with hunters, the whole point was to calmly canter in a nice, smooth rhythm, jump the lines correctly at a sane speed, and get the right striding.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I cantered around the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
I held on until Blazen jumped over a huge ditch, and my little body went flying right into the ditch. Like a cartoon character, I sat there shaking my head, confused and embarrassed. I checked my arms and legs, moving everything. My body seemed to be working all right, so I sat there, chilling in the ditch, covered with mud. Like a wild mustang stallion, Blazen ran off to freedomland. No worries. Someone tracked him down before he got flattened by a semi-truck barreling down Route 50.
The instructors mulled it over, and I guess they felt sorry for me, so they decided to give me a new horse for the show day. Old Blazen went back to his stall where he belonged, but that guy had a shit-eating grin on his muzzle. The instructors informed me of this: the new plan was for me to ride Redford -- not because he was awesome, but because no one wanted to ride him. On the ground, Redford was known for being mean as hell. Like Blazen, Redford was also appropriately named; he was a strange pinkish, godawful red color. Part draft horse and part dinosaur, Redford was damn ugly and huge. Well, his head was huge, and it was definitely out of proportion to his body. To me, since I was so vertically challenged, he looked like a red monster. I'd heard that Redford bit people when they tried to tack him up, but I knew that once I got up on his back, there shouldn't be too many problems other than that he was super slow. Usually, a rider had to start up a jet plane under Redford's ass just to get him to trot.
Usually.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So, the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, was the last instruction I heard. As always, I mustered up all of my intensity and followed directions. Well, I suppose I did a good job of getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. Desperately, I hung on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
At a hunter horse show, a course is usually comprised of eight jumps; that usually means four "lines." A "line" means one jump followed by another, and there are a certain number of canter strides that you must do in between the jumps in the line. Well, where we were supposed to do five strides, we did four (or a little less) each time, which means that we were going so fast, Redford took up some amazing ground. I finished the jumps, and we exited the ring like champs, but I was still clutching his mane. My fingers were bluish.
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
"Wow, that was fast! Ha, ha, ha."
"I've never seen Redford go that fast, ever."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my."
"For the love of god, what was that?"
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
No one had ever seen Redford go that fast, and I don't think anyone had ever seen any of the schoolhorses go that fast either. One of the barn workers held Redford while I joined my parents in the barn lounge; they were cheering like crazy. See, they thought the whole point was to be the fastest, and they assumed that I was a riding prodigy. But with hunters, the whole point was to calmly canter in a nice, smooth rhythm, jump the lines correctly at a sane speed, and get the right striding.
To put it bluntly -- I totally screwed it up and none of us had any idea. Basically, it was so bad, it was as if I scored a basket for the other basketball team, and my parents and I were clueless.
Now, later in life, I learned about showing and striding and all that, but what I remember most about that first horse show was the speed, the fun, and how ridiculously excited we all were about the horrible ride. That's right, we were oblivious to the reality that my performance was absolutely hilarious. That day, it didn't really matter. Since I didn't know any better, I was just beaming at my ride, my light speed course.
Now, later in life, I learned about showing and striding and all that, but what I remember most about that first horse show was the speed, the fun, and how ridiculously excited we all were about the horrible ride. That's right, we were oblivious to the reality that my performance was absolutely hilarious. That day, it didn't really matter. Since I didn't know any better, I was just beaming at my ride, my light speed course.
In some ways, not knowing was a gift.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; that was because some others had major issues that were much worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
When I returned to the barn lounge, the older kids were cracking up, all whispering about my terrible, speed demon ride. Hearing them, I started coming to, realizing my ride was all wrong, but in my heart, I also knew that it was still the beginning of something, so I shrugged and clutched my yellow ribbon, checking out the snacks, feeling stubborn. And I thought to myself, I'll show you.
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors; I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. And then I went on to be a trainer at other barns. For a time, I even ended up working for an Olympic-level trainer.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; that was because some others had major issues that were much worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
When I returned to the barn lounge, the older kids were cracking up, all whispering about my terrible, speed demon ride. Hearing them, I started coming to, realizing my ride was all wrong, but in my heart, I also knew that it was still the beginning of something, so I shrugged and clutched my yellow ribbon, checking out the snacks, feeling stubborn. And I thought to myself, I'll show you.
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors; I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. And then I went on to be a trainer at other barns. For a time, I even ended up working for an Olympic-level trainer.
Indeed, I never thought I’d make it as far as I did.
Redford wasn't such a bad guy. Simply, he was making his way in the world like the rest of us, and I have a soft spot for him now. Thinking back, Redford took care of me that day, and he did exactly what he was told to do. I took him to the side ring to wake him up, and he responded. Despite his rough looks, and although all throughout the barn he was known for his resentful attitude, wild eyes, and rumored biting and kicking, now I believe that it was all for show. He never tried to hurt me. Not once.
C.A. MacConnell
Redford wasn't such a bad guy. Simply, he was making his way in the world like the rest of us, and I have a soft spot for him now. Thinking back, Redford took care of me that day, and he did exactly what he was told to do. I took him to the side ring to wake him up, and he responded. Despite his rough looks, and although all throughout the barn he was known for his resentful attitude, wild eyes, and rumored biting and kicking, now I believe that it was all for show. He never tried to hurt me. Not once.
C.A. MacConnell
4/21/2022
4/20/2022
Howdy. Author Page.
Heya. Hope you're well out there. I've been processing some deep stuff, man. It just gets deeper and deeper on this journey of mine. But hey, there's always cleaning, driving, the movies, and murder channels. A nice distraction, ha.
Also, I love Complete Cookies. And the Tattooed Chef. Thank you for your treats. Since I am a failed cook, they come in handy. I've never even used my oven. Or stove. Yes, it's true. Today, I had a new dish -- sweet potatoes. I didn't really like it. Maybe with butter and sugar, I dunno. Also part of my journey -- new dishes.
I've come a long, long way...I'm proud of my hard work in therapy and sober living, that's for sure. I've made some huge muscles. And literal muscles, lately. Maybe one day, I'll fill out one of those superhero suits.
Aye, I get so intense sometimes. I forget to laugh. :) Also, I stink.
Just a reminder...if you haven't had a chance to check out my Amazon Author Page...go here. Right there, you can see all four of my books, as well as a description of each. All are fast-paced with a mystery element, but each is daringly unique. I guarantee that you'll get hooked on these dynamic characters and the witty dialogue. I work hard to make it startlingly real.
Imagine this in a whisper: I hope you join me on my artistic journey. I'd love to have you come along with me.
Remember, above all else tonight, you deserve good things.
I love you,
C.A. MacConnell
4/19/2022
4/18/2022
Happy 5-Year Anniversary to THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR!!!
HAPPY 5-YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR!!!!
I adored writing this book. So tricky, so complex, and yet so much fun to create.
Here's a description: 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, misfits, grunge, hippies, murderers, it's all there, and it moves with a force. Check it out right here.
It's fiction, but the story is so rich and real, you'll never forget it. I actually started the book IN the nineties, when I lived in Seattle, and then I pulled out my notes years later, creating the first version for my master's thesis at Hollins University. Then...many years after that, I hit it up again, finishing the job, creating this dynamic work. A wonderful, unique, raw story. Hope you'll buy one TODAY! You won't ever be the same again after you read this sucker. <3
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
4/16/2022
Photo: Pay Phone.
When you suddenly realize that the past fifteen years have been spent trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there's nothing wrong with you...when in reality, there was nothing wrong with you in the first place.
<3
C.A. MacConnell
4/13/2022
White T-shirt with Black Writing
Paris, France apartment, 2015
I don't know what I'm going to do with
It.
This
Shirt.
See it on the bed.
It's covered
With blood.
Whose blood is it? It's monstrous
What a bullet can
Do. I think I'll put
It away.
It's covered. I don't know what I'm going to do with it.
They were shooting, and they wouldn't
Stop.
All I remember is that
Man,
The man in red, and those hands,
His hands.
With all of his strength, with the greatest reach alive,
He grabbed my arms and lifted me up and
Out. But
This shirt.
It's
Covered.
I don't know what I'm going to do
With it.
I think I'll put it
Away.
C.A. MacConnell
I don't know what I'm going to do with
It.
This
Shirt.
See it on the bed.
It's covered
With blood.
Whose blood is it? It's monstrous
What a bullet can
Do. I think I'll put
It away.
It's covered. I don't know what I'm going to do with it.
They were shooting, and they wouldn't
Stop.
All I remember is that
Man,
The man in red, and those hands,
His hands.
With all of his strength, with the greatest reach alive,
He grabbed my arms and lifted me up and
Out. But
This shirt.
It's
Covered.
I don't know what I'm going to do
With it.
I think I'll put it
Away.
C.A. MacConnell
4/12/2022
Wish List
Just a simple little piece, but I like the notion of it. Makes me feel warm. Hope you have a good day. XO, C.A.
Wish List
Wish List
the fire light.
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.
C.A. MacConnell
4/11/2022
While Ordering Salt Blocks
Someone buy me
a horse.
Let him be bay or
black,
the only big, bad, slick
beast in the barn.
That bitch could jump
over circles. The people are
mere hoof prints,
and the rain lives on; hell,
look at the way
the wet sticks to the
ring sand.
I am one of the few
eating and sweeping
right now.
I am
betting on it.
-- C.A. MacConnell
a horse.
Let him be bay or
black,
the only big, bad, slick
beast in the barn.
That bitch could jump
over circles. The people are
mere hoof prints,
and the rain lives on; hell,
look at the way
the wet sticks to the
ring sand.
I am one of the few
eating and sweeping
right now.
I am
betting on it.
-- C.A. MacConnell
4/10/2022
Wall, Wind Chimes, Wind's Coming, Young's
Four pieces for you today. Just sharing a little series. Hope you have a nice Sunday. We're gonna have some sun, finally! Hope you like the pics. <3, C.A. MacConnell
4/09/2022
When Facing You
Someone drew
a white tiger
on every
inch
of duct tape,
and suddenly,
I was called upon
to study
the stripes.
C.A. MacConnell
a white tiger
on every
inch
of duct tape,
and suddenly,
I was called upon
to study
the stripes.
C.A. MacConnell
Photo: Untitled.
Ha, kinda creepy, I know. Kinda cool though. Check out one of my books here. Hope you have a good day,
C.A. MacConnell
4/08/2022
4/06/2022
4/05/2022
Horse Trainer, First Day: Turnout
I'll take him.
Just so you know,
this one -- the black --
sometimes,
out of nowhere,
well,
he may rear up
the tenth time
you lead him out
to the field.
He could get loose.
He could tear across
the property
and barrel down
Route 48.
He could strike
at the air and aim
for you
with his front hooves,
drive his nails home,
and then settle
back down,
and he’ll forget to blink,
so, watch
your head.
Or he might walk
like a baby
with a relaxed lip.
C.A. MacConnell
Just so you know,
this one -- the black --
sometimes,
out of nowhere,
well,
he may rear up
the tenth time
you lead him out
to the field.
He could get loose.
He could tear across
the property
and barrel down
Route 48.
He could strike
at the air and aim
for you
with his front hooves,
drive his nails home,
and then settle
back down,
and he’ll forget to blink,
so, watch
your head.
Or he might walk
like a baby
with a relaxed lip.
C.A. MacConnell
4/04/2022
4/03/2022
They revive her.
Howdy. The first line is the title in this one, a tactic poets use sometimes to blur the beginning. :) Thought it worked here. Hope you like the piece. I just totally rewrote it. I've been working on this for some time, and it feels finished now. Hope you have a good day. Love, C.A.
They revive her. At half past nine,
on a gray morning, Merrily, the middle-aged actress,
reappears from the northern emergency room.
At eleven, in the southern hall, recalling sixth grade,
she shakily scrawls down her number, passing
a crumpled note to handsome Dillon. From the west,
covered in ink, he is marked with cartoons, the perfect,
thousand-dollar sleeves. At eleven-thirty, he leaves
behind his wife, his Fender, and a devoted, starstruck
girlfriend. Ladies drink Coke Zero in the waiting room.
Back home, come noontime, second shift, the black,
full bred Shepherd still barks for him, suddenly waking
the newborn. The twin girls draw horses, shutting
their eyes, pulling surprise crayons from the assorted
pack. One p.m. arrives, and shit-faced, flawless Carly
dances down the drive, hitching her tenth ride to rehab.
In the room next to her, second-hand-close to three
in the afternoon, Aaron, the lean machine, the mechanic
with curls, begins having seizures. Carly peeks in
at the tubes and remembers. Fourteen years ago,
on the playground, he shook sand from his shoes.
Beside the burning metal slide, in the space between
the eastern monkey bars, he kissed her once.
-- C.A. MacConnell
4/02/2022
Photo: Chicago, Sunrise.
Whoa, I picked the wrong order today. 100 items up 3 flights, and not even a thank you. Haha. The ladies at the grocery were cracking up at my overflowing cart...it's a delicate balancing act at times, I tell you. Never again will I take on such a feat.
But here's a photo to brighten your night, in case you had a tough day like me. :)
Love,
C.A. MacConnell
