Bike.

 

Here's one I took just now. <3
C.A. MacConnell

Which Way, Awning.

 

Which Way

Awning

Hey there. Some recent photos. I've been having fun experimenting with some more abstract work. Hope you're having a good day. Mine was a little rough...but...I'm going to the mooooovieees tonight. I get so excited. Easily amused, for sure. In 1983, there was a day I'll never forget. The third Superman was out, and the plan was this:  first, I was going to the moooooovies to see the new Superman and then, I was going to Mimi's house (my grandma) to spend the night. Sitting in the theater, I thought to myself, This is the best day of my life! Honestly, I remember that moment like it was yesterday.

Wish me luck as I wait to hear about Book Five...I'm still in the process of getting it out there; I've had some heavy interest, and we shall see. My four published novels are on Amazon NOW! Click here. Or, just touch/click on the book covers on the right side of this page, and you'll find all the info. :) XO

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Cadillac Hearse 2, 3.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Shadows of You.

 

For this site only. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell :)

Cadillac Hearse.

 

Got some more to share tomorrow. Turned out really cool. Just having fun.

C.A. MacConnell

;)

Alarm

 

I took a bunch today. I loved this one. I caught some others too. Lucky day.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo.

 

Because similar to the obligatory "Rock 'n roll brick wall shot," every artist has to have a simple, yet highly obvious sexual photo. Just a joke today. Always good to laugh at yourself.

C.A. MacConnell

Still Here.

I like to see the beauty in things, where one would never think it would exist. :) XO.

C.A. MacConnell

Resume.

I like to write little poems with a twist, a little surprise. Here's an example. I like to do this in fiction quite a bit as well -- both in short stories and in my novels... Twists and turns and surprises. Love, C.🙏💪

Resume

Nothing much
to tell, but I’ll always
beat the deadline.
I’ll collect
the backstage cash,
barely looking up.
Currently,
my neck and jaw
often ache,
but I’ll never complain.
I know my weight.
Thank you, James,
for making me
laugh. Only you
know who you are.

C.A. MacConnell

One Bird.

 

I enjoyed the simplicity of these shots. This guy posed for me yesterday; he looked rather content. So was I. People ask me about my writing sometimes...if it's "me" or "how I feel" -- the novels, the poems, and such.

Well...sometimes, my photos/writings reflect how I presently feel. But more often, it comes from a place of "looking back." Other days, I just spy something interesting, and it gives off a vibe that has nothing to do with me, but it may harness something from my past, or it may present a future dream hope. There have been times when I've posted something ultra-creepy, and I might have even been laughing when I wrote it, and people will ask or wonder about it; this cracks me up. Sometimes, it's just an oddball capture. I suppose that's true for any writer. Although some stay close; some are more distant. It can depend on the time, the work, and the author's route of "attack," so to speak. Every now and then, people ask me strange questions having to do with my books, as if the plot is going on in my life right now. Like, "How's that guy doing now that he got out of prison?" and they're referring to a character, and it can be pretty funny. I've gotten some really hilarious comments about my first book. Actually, I consider it a complement when fiction comes alive. You can find my books here.

Certainly, the characters are real to me. :) I suppose, in the end, it's all a piece of me. With the nonfiction I've written, of course, it's not a character, but it also captures a voice that I may have that minute, day, hour, or week. And we change...aye. So that can be tricky too.

Funny, because in real life, in real time, I'm not tricky at all. I'm very "straight up;" that is, I am quite transparent, grounded, and direct, and when asked, or when the moment calls for it, I'll shoot out exactly how I feel.

Good morning. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Meters.

 

Never know what might be strangely beautiful...and yet deep at the same time.
I love this.
Hope you do too. :) XO. <3. ;)

C.A. MacConnell

Proud of You.

C.A. MacConnell

Side Street.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Self

 

This is me, right now. Hello. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Ladders

 

:) XO

C.A. MacConnell

Just Assume That It's Beautiful.

Maybe it doesn't seem so sometimes, when you broke your arm, or you lost someone, or you're struggling to pay rent. After the cast, after the hug and reconnection, after the bill is paid, there is another side. On the other side, however large or small, miracles are revealed.

Because soon, as it unfolds, you begin to realize this: the body can heal. Maybe you lost someone, but a new friend entered your life. You scrambled to pay the rent, but you now know that you have the ability to support and care for yourself. Suddenly, you understand these truths, and you can move forward with this new strength in your heart.

A changed version of the self appears.

Just assume that it's beautiful.

C.A. MacConnell

Remember

First, shut your eyes. Take a moment. Right here, right now.

Remember. Think of how amazing it is...the way your journey has unfolded, and how much hard work it has taken to get where you are today.

Celebrate you, because life is complex and difficult sometimes for everyone, no matter what various outside appearances might convey.

And right now, someone is battling similar experiences. And right now, they too are shutting their eyes and making a decision to feel joy, acknowledging the strength that living requires.

Take a moment to be a witness to your unique, human courage.

C.A. MacConnell

Memories 1, 2, 3.

 

Enjoy my little story in pictures. Color's too orange? Some things are cut off? Out of focus, perhaps. Yes, indeed. ;) Some mistakes are intentional. There can be loveliness in the mess. And there can be perfection in the pattern of imperfection. Ha. To me, that's more interesting than one perfect landscape shot. Like the voices of Janis Joplin, Chan Marshall, and Nina Simone. Not perfect, but powerful, nonetheless.

One of my little secrets. Just fucking around, having a lot of fun, in my own little world of stories and images. Sometimes, it's more fun to be there. All the time, really! Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

Argo's Street.

 

Good morning. <3
C.A. MacConnell

Off

Good morning.

Stop. Look.

Hm, that person seems "off." Not their usual expression. The words are rather more like whisperings. Strange. People around them are steering clear. They're quieter than usual. They're louder than usual. People around them are REALLY steering clear now.

I've been "off" before, and when I am, there's good reason. I'm kind of "off" today too.

I'll ask some questions.

I'm not getting anything.

I don't know them very well, but I'll ask more questions.

I didn't think I had time, but I have time.

I won't give up on this person.

I can't believe it. They hugged me.

I can't believe it. They have a lot of stress. So do I, but I'm breathing a little deeper now. Wonder if they are. Seems so.

I can't believe it. Fifteen minutes later, we're laughing together.

Questions, an ear, or simple presence. That's key. I've always known that, but why does that idea seem new?

We are powerful.

We are both still smiling. When I leave, the day seems suddenly a little lighter.

One moment with another person can change everything. One moment can save a life.

C.A. MacConnell

Some Music Shots

 

Jake Rathburn

Just messing around taking some night/indoor shots. Jake and I have known each other about 15 years, I believe. He makes me laugh a lot! Always has. I'm going to get out and take some more shots of musicians/artists. I enjoy it very much. I'd actually rather capture backstage or behind the scenes stuff...that'd be more fun to me, to grab a range of vibes, personalities, and spirits. That's more my preference with photos. Let's see where this goes. :) Love to you. 

Hope you're having a beautiful day.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. I'd love to take your photo. Send me a message here.

The Reach

With his fingers, one lonely man
carved a perfect, nude, stone sculpture.

A single woman penned a lofty book,
one about a shy, misunderstood

monster, a recluse who was half
machine. Others wrote elusive,
naked songs and poems. Nomads

poured out bibles and speeches.
Soliloquies. Today, each moment,

the world still cracks, falling in love
with Marilyn Monroe. And here I am,

digging into the stream, trying
to express what lies inside,
but like the rest, I'll never quite

reach. I'm sure you already know.

C.A. MacConnell

Tree Shots

 
May Tree

Little Tree

Leave

Trees teach me a lot about angles, light, and perspective. I believe that they hold secrets, stories, and many whispers inside. At times, I talk to trees, and I often feel a sense of safe, compassionate energy coming from them, as if they're gentle, supportive listeners. When I touch them, I usually do so lightly. The second shot is one of a tree that I've followed through time, watching it change. Not sure why I picked that one. I just did. Over time, I've had some favorite trees. Usually, the ones I lean into aren't the impressive kind; they're often strange or small or simple. Just a feeling I get with some of them.

In case you're picturing me running around wearing leaves and twigs for clothes and such, don't be dismayed. I do indeed talk to people as well and interact with society...admittedly quite failed at times, but I do it with great passion and interest. Ha.

Hope you have a good day. 

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. I had a dream that someone screamed at me, "CHECK YOUR SPELLING!" It was a terrifying nightmare.

Booze, Driveway Grave.

 

Booze

Driveway Grave

Same vibe here as the one below. A whole story behind these shots, in my opinion. Art all works together. :)

C.A. MacConnell

Yellow Hose.

 

<3 I freaking love this. Example of one I'll love and very few will. Because it tells a story, and it makes something extraordinary out of the ordinary. :)

C.A. MacConnell

From the Turtle

One of my favorites. Have a good day. Love to you, C.A. From the POV of the turtle.

From the Turtle

I will find the light soon

we all will
I’ve been under the ice
for a while
which is boring
I was afraid I might die last year
the first time
under here
because would you believe
I wasn’t even hungry
and my skin was breathing
for me

last spring, I couldn’t understand
Mom disappeared for hours
with the old man
I guess it was fun
but they were both crying
then I had five sisters
four are pretty easy to swim with
they taught me to dive
the middle one is bad
too much, she snaps
she bit a fingertip right off once
I was so sorry for the person
but I didn’t know what to say
ten hours I crawled
I went to the woods
I met a lonely goose

I will find the light soon

I am two now
my family
has been here a long time
at least seven summers
I guess summer is the same thing as sex
I’m not sure
I’m not big on worms
but crickets are delicious

I will find the light soon

I hear the toads
they are so loud it hurts
the sides of my head
they’re yelling about Snake on the rocks
in the sun
maybe I will join him
not too close
can’t trust the quiet
always working, no play
poor guy
waiting around for legs to grow
I keep telling him
anyday now

Once I was crossing the sidewalk
it took me all day to get half way
all of a sudden
the human took a hold
of my shell
I was upside down
and dizzy
I thought I might lose something on the inside
I pulled my head in to play
hide-and-seek with her
I think she was afraid
her eyes were like flies
and would you believe
she set me down
back at the beginning

I will find the light soon

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. I just woke up and had a funny thought, and I wrote it on social media:  it's going to be a hot one. Something is happening to me, and it's very uncomfortable, and I'm rather annoyed. I think God wants me to be happy. Ha. Love to you, C.A. It's true. I woke and wondered why I was so annoyed at all of the changes in my life over the past few years -- all of the ups and downs, all of the grief, all of the physical pain, all of the fear, all of the hardship. And I realized it's for good reason...I just can't clearly see the full picture yet, but I know in my heart that it's for love. Learning how to love in various ways. I'm learning how to "Stay." I'm learning how to compromise, be patient, and practice compassion. I'm learning how to rely on myself and sit with tough feelings too, building strength. I have expressed these changes, these miracles, to my spiritual adviser, and we've been talking about it, which is fun. I've been noticing new people coming into my life, which is like magic if you think about it, and I'm sure there's some magic man out there who is learning these things too and maybe, just maybe, I'll see this person out and about. At 49, I'm learning how to be a kid again. Because kids understand love and play. Some of us have to undo some shit and relearn it. XO :) Maybe this writing isn't genius, but it's important, because I'm important. Learning that too.

Mel Art 2.

 

Here are some more shots from Melissa's show. FB:  Mel Artwork. Please check out her work, which is incredibly powerful...even more so in person.

I love trying to capture the energy and vibe of people. More challenging when a crowd's involved! :) Enjoying the practice.

If you'd like me to take your photo, shoot me an email.

Photos by C.A. MacConnell

Mel Artwork.

 

Saw a friend's show last night and took some shots. Enjoy. The last piece is called "After the Storm." <3. Look...I caught a little ant on that first one. :) I own one of the blue/yellow smaller boxes. A different one than the ones pictured here...she painted it before she met me, and when I saw it, I was so touched. :) <3. Her art touches me so much emotionally. She is incredibly talented. Posted with permission of the artist.

Artwork by Mel Artwork

Photos by C.A. MacConnell

Private Plane 4.

 

Good morning. I hope you're having great adventures! I have a bunch of plane pics, but this one feels sexy to me.

A while back, someone asked me where I'd like to go on vacation, if I went. I said, "I don't care. I'll go anywhere. I can have fun inside a cardboard box." I'm easily amused and easily distracted, no matter where I am. For instance, when I see boxes of bananas at the grocery, I wonder, What if, one morning, they opened that box of bananas and a person jumped out? And then I told the produce guy, J. I said, Hey, J., what if some person jumped outta here, like someone trying to escape? Or what if a snake jumped out! And then we cracked up. And then I made up a whole story about it in my head. He told me he once found a frog in the produce. People, wash your produce.

Hope you have a beautiful day,
C.A. MacConnell

Limo in Woods.

 

I decided that I like the eerie feel of this photo. Interesting, pleasantly strange.

Please check out some of my fiction on the posts below...or click the label on the side of this page. And you can find my four books here. PASS IT ON! <3 I created, wrote, edited, and designed each one. I even handled the cover art. Rock and roll.

I guarantee, if you pick up any of my books, it'll send you to another world...one that is gripping, fast-paced, slick, creative, and full of feeling. All of my novels have a mystery element, but each one is incredibly unique. My style is rich and real. And since my mind moves rapidly, my books do as well.

Hope you had an awesome day. Mine was long, but I'm proud of trooping through, and I'm grateful for the generosity of some folks today, that's for sure. It brought a tear to my eye.

The other day, through tears, I said to God, "I don't want something normal. I want something magical." Right then, a hawk, my totem animal, flew over my shoulder.  I've had some of the most interesting, close encounters with hawks lately. Some days, it gives me just the hope that I need at an unsettled time. I hear you. Amazing.

C.A. MacConnell

Hawk, Sunrise. Amber.

 

Hawk, Sunrise

Amber

Two of my favorite photos that capture my spirit. Have a good day. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Marrero, LA.

 

Change is hard, especially when the habits run deep, but great change is possible. I am growing and changing every day, opening up. :) Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. XO. Have a nice evening.

Love,

C.A. MacConnell

Jesus, Jimmy

I'm taking the day off. Not sure what to do with myself. I haven't had a day off in...let's see...many months. Actually, I can't remember my last day off. I think I'll do some exploring. :) Here is a fiction sample for you, an old piece, but it gives you a sense of how I grab a voice. Check out my books here. Love to you, love to me, love to us. Hope your world is happy and full of heart. C.A. 

Jesus, Jimmy

-- orig. published in Analecta 25: the Art and Literary Journal of the University of Texas at Austin

All right. There were some fights. Food scattered all over the kitchen, a fork mark on the side of Dad's neck. She had thrown it at him. She liked to throw things. When I walked into the kitchen, I ducked.

Bang, bang, bang on the wall. That was how she got my attention. "Moe! Get up, Moe! You shouldn't be sleeping all day!"

"I work the night shift!" I yelled back. Something like that.

Bang, bang, bang on the wall. "You shouldn't be sleeping all day!"

And there was my hand through a glass door because she pushed me into it. Then her calling the cops on me for attacking. Which I didn't, but there was blood there, and it was my fault like it was always my fault. Then it was me choosing between juvey hall and the psych ward. Then me choosing again.

So I hung out at Jimmy's basement mostly. We did ridiculous things like drink cases of Milwaukee's Best and smoke stuff and knock down walls. And sometimes, Jimmy got his guns out to show off to me. How Jimmy never ended up in jail, it's a wonder. He liked guns and guns like Jimmy. One time, we built a bonfire out in Jimmy's backyard. Jimmy burned things like books and chairs while I played my Dad's guitar in the basement. Through the sliding glass door, I watched Jimmy dance around the fire shooting his gun. Flash got me stoned. We called him that because he used to be all athletic and run real fast. He used to do everything fast -- walk fast, drive fast, pick up women fast. Stuff changes though. He made us crack up and turned into the dealer for us. There was money in it. When he was stoned, Flash cooked up these plans to save the world, then forgot them in a flash. He was a dreamer. We all were, like how we thought we could ace tests without studying at all. I always did okay, but there was the time when Jimmy saw my score and wrote "Eat shit" on my test. Then he dropped his pants. Boy, we both had to call our moms from school on that one. It was nuts.

While we burned things, Jimmy's mom slept upstairs. Either that or she went out with her boyfriend to Blueberry Hill for a drink, which usually turned out to be ten drinks. Her boyfriend was an electrician, and that came in handy when Jimmy drank too much and broke lamps. Me and Jimmy were just glad we had a place to hang out and do ridiculous things and not get yelled at. Jimmy's mom had a bad back and she was crazy too, quiet crazy. She took drugs for it, the kind that make you all loopy like you're half-dead.

Bang, bang, bang on the wall. "Moe, you bring me some hangers." And when I forgot, "Boy, I can see your titties when you wear that tank top." Mom said that 'cause I was big for fifteen. I was pretty built freshman year, but I kind of let myself go after that. Me and Flash were big and silly. Jimmy was bigger and sillier. Jimmy's mom was quiet crazy. My mom was loud crazy. That's why me and Jimmy hung out and knocked down walls.

--

I'm getting out today, which is a good thing because I'm playing my guitar tonight in the jazz band competition at school. All I've thought about for the past two weeks while I've been in the psych ward is how the hell I was going to get enough practicing done. They told me to think about all this past stuff, and I've thought about it, and I've written at least five new tunes about how Mom told me we were going to the doctor to get my ingrown toenails removed. Instead, she started chain smoking and drove me here, threw me in the loony bin. Not so bad, really. When you're fifteen, and in the loony bin, and your mom's loud crazy, it's kind of nice to get away for a while.

I got Dad's guitar with me. They don't let me keep it in my room because they're afraid somebody might steal it. They keep it behind the counter until I ask for it. It's not so bad here. Quiet. Kind of like a vacation.

So we go to meetings where we talk about how we feel, and I tell them I don't know why I'm here, that I'm just here, that Mom's loud crazy and I got no problems. Those whitecoats just nod and smile, looking at me all sad, the way Jimmy's mom looks when she does come down from her room, which is a one-in-a-million thing. The girls here talk and cry a lot. The boys here listen to me play tunes and beat on things when we're allowed to make noise. While I strum, I miss Jimmy and Flash, and I wonder how they're holding up. And I feel bad 'cause I know they don't like too much time without me. They need me to keep them from doing stuff that's really stupid, like stealing picnic tables from the neighbors. But that's another ridiculous story.

All right. So all week long I've been ignoring that guy with the sleep disorder. He kept banging on the wall the way my Mom did, all loud, trying to get my attention. I've been ignoring the pill suicide girls and the kid whose mom deserted his family on his birthday. I played my part in the psycho drama, the part of one of the suicide kid's abusive older brothers. That was some fun. All week long, they kept coming to me, and I listened to their stories and tried to help, but there's just no helping some people. Besides, I had to practice for the jazz band competition. Jimmy and Flash were looking forward to it. We had ridiculous plans for after the competition, whether or not I played well. They promised me that when I used my one phone call on them.

So I sit here with Dad's guitar and wait for her. When she pulls up in her AMC Eagle, yelling, "Moe!" out the window, waving her cigarette at me, I just sit and sulk.

"Get in," she says.

I get in because I got to get to school fast for the competition. I can’t drive yet and Flash is the only one with the car, but his is on blocks in Jimmy’s backyard because of the night we got all drunk on wine coolers and had the munchies. We went to Kentucky Fried Chicken and ate straight off the all-you-can-eat bar. When we got back, Flash ran straight into the side of Jimmy’s house. That was after we trashed the Cedar Ridge apartment complex across the street. Jimmy had to get a new brush after that because he left his floating in the pool there. Slipped out of his back pocket.

Dad’s guitar sits in the backseat behind me, same way it sat the day after he had his first heart attack, which was the same day Mom asked him for the divorce. It was the same day that gunfire and explosions went on in Jimmy’s backyard, and we stole a birdbath from his neighbor. A week later, Jimmy’s mom smoked in the basement, ashed in the birdbath and said, “Where’d this birdbath come from?” And Jimmy said back, “Moe’s mom gave it to us.” Jimmy’s mom smiled and went up to her room with a bottle of Wild Turkey and got all quiet.

Mom rolls up her window and lights one smoke off of another. “How you doing?” she asks me, stretching her neck like a bird so she can see over the dash. Mom is skinny and wrinkly. Makes me wonder how I turned out so big.

“How do you think I’m doing?” I say back. I feel like playing some blues. Maybe Muddy Waters. Miles Davis. Yeah, Jimmy and Flash would like that.

“Moe, we got to hurry. You got the jazz band, and I got people coming to see you,” she says.

I always thought it was funny that I had to play my electric with no amp because she was always telling me to shut up, but when people came over, she wanted to show me off.

“Yeah,” I say. She doesn’t talk anymore, and I’m glad because I’m trying to remember chords in my head. I move my fingers to make sure they still work.

When we get to Wilson High, my school, Mom drops me off at the door, and I rub my hands together because they’re cold, and it’s hard to play when they’re cold. Jimmy and Flash are there and they pat me on the back. Jimmy is stoned for sure and Flash is too I think, but sometimes it’s hard to tell with Flash since he wears glasses and when he takes them off, his eyes are just slits all of the time.

Jimmy pats me on the back again, and we walk back behind the school, where I smoke a blunt with them. We huddle together like three big bears.

“Was it a shithole?” Jimmy asks me, pulling that new brush out of his back pocket. He got the new one the time when we were fucked up and Flash was running around Food Lion yelling, “I’m available for any fourteen-year-old chicks,” while Jimmy was busy stealing pot pies, and while I was busy keeping track of them.

Jimmy brushes his greasy hair back so that it’s all slick.

“Yeah, man. The people in there were so crazy, made me think I’m pretty normal.” I take the brush from Jimmy and get slick too. Got to hold up my image. I’m a slick, fast blues man. I feel my goatee. It hasn’t grown much.

“Did you meet any women?” Flash asks me, pulling a flask from his pants, taking a swig, then passing it to me. He doesn’t slick his hair ’cause it’s not worth it — his hair’s so curly the brush just gets stuck there. But he pushes his glasses up on his nose even though they’re already pushed up there. Habit.

“One. She liked to hear me play, but the nurses watched us close. Made me leave the door open. Treated me like I was some kind of nutcase,” I say.

“Too bad,” Flash says, “Hey man, you can stay at my place if stuff with your mom is tiring you.” He takes another swig and goes, “Geez, ahhh,” then smacks his lips. Something like that.

“Yeah, like your mom wants another kid running around. She’s already got ten,” I say. I think about it though. Whenever I went to Flash’s house, his dad would cook me gourmet things like eggplant Parmesan. There was just something about his house. No matter what, me and Jimmy could walk in there looking and smelling like bums, but Flash’s house always smelled good. And Flash did too. My house smelled like smoke. Jimmy’s did too, only not cigarette smoke — his house smelled like smoke from burning things because Jimmy just liked to burn things.

I pick up Dad’s guitar and go around the school to the backstage, where I get ready, and where Jimmy and Flash say to me, “Don’t kill yourself,” which means good luck. Jimmy brushes my hair where it’s sticking up and Flash puts a pack of smokes in the pockets of my jeans. I pull them up. They’re a bit loose. That’s what happens when Mom puts you in the psych ward. You get loose jeans. Doesn’t matter, though, ’cause I’m big and Flash’s dad’ll cook me up something soon, like he did the last time I was in there — cooked me up some roast duck with wine sauce, which is something.

When I walk into the rehearsal room, the kids are already warmed up. They all stare at me, like they are thinking, There’s that big Moe, who was sent to the psych center. He must be nuts. But they keep on warming up, and as I tune my guitar, my hands feel bigger and bigger. My body feels bigger and bigger. And Dad’s guitar feels ridiculously heavy. I feel sweat coming down my head, messing up my hair where Jimmy brushed it. But I am strong, strong like Dad. I am a fighter, like Jimmy when he threw that kid into a mirror at his house and glass went everywhere. “Shit,” Jimmy said. “Bad luck.”

“Ready. The crowd’s waiting.” Mr. Slosher says that. He’s the gym teacher, but he’s also the music teacher. In gym class, he laughs when he calls my name for attendance. “Oh, it’s Tuesday. Moe must be here.” I only go to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays because that’s band practice days. Always get an “A” in gym though. Mr. Slosher likes me ’cause I play a mean guitar. He says I know how to improvise.

We follow him because he’s got the suit on — me, the keyboard player, the bassist, and the drummer. One big bear and three little kids. We follow Slosher the way Mom follows me around the house, watching me, waving her cigarette like an extra finger, saying, “Moe, why you always look at me like that?”

Slosher opens the curtains for us, and the four of us go out on stage, waiting for the good part. I breathe deep and think of Jimi Hendrix. I look at Charles, the bass player, and nod. And he nods back. I feel all loopy and daydream about his dark face fading into Jimmy’s pale one. I picture Jimmy standing next to me on stage, saying, “Look at my new gun, Moe. We’re gonna tear some shit up tonight.” And I look at the skinny, angry drummer, wishing it were Flash beating on them, saying, “Come over. My dad made some linguine.” But when the curtains open, and I look out at the parents, all I see is Mom’s face, wrinkly and smiling. She even claps.

I stare at her while I play Dad’s guitar. I’m not thinking about what I’m playing, but somehow, my fingers move because Slosher says I know how to improvise. I keep staring at Mom and thinking of songs in my head, songs about people just like me and Flash and Jimmy, people that do ridiculous things. When it’s over, and the crowd’s making some noise, I think I see Dad out there too, smoking a cigarette in the back of the auditorium because he has to smoke in order to cough and get stuff out of his lungs. And that is the stupid thing about all of it. Not that he has to cough, but that he’s not there at all.

When they give me the plaque for "Most Valuable Jazz Band Member," all I can think about is how good it is going to look on that wall, that wall that Mom always bangs on. And as she takes me home, all I think about is where the plaque should go, somewhere between my poster of Jimi and the one of B.B. King. So, when I ask Mom for nails, she says, "Moe, we can't be ruining the walls."

But I do it anyway. I search through Dad's old work shed and find a big one and pound it in. Bang, bang, bang on the wall. I hang that plaque there, and when she comes in and throws things and takes that plaque away, I duck and keep hitting the wall. Bang, bang, bang. I hit it until there's a hole there, then walk over to Jimmy's to cool off. I'll get that plaque back. Something like that.

Me, Jimmy, and Flash hang out at Jimmy's and play pool. Jimmy is good and liquored up by the time I get over there to tell him about the plaque.

"That ain't right," he says, sitting on top of the pool table. It doesn't matter if we do that. The table has all sorts of dents and slants in it.

"Yeah," I say, drinking Jimmy's Mom's Wild Turkey.

"That just ain't right," Jimmy says, hitting his fist on the table, knocking the eight ball with the side of his big hand.

"Boys, we need to have a little meeting," Flash says, pulling bud out of his jacket.

The three of us move to a holey couch, sink in it, smoke and get all quiet until Flash says, "Man, you're gonna be all famous on stage someday and none of this shit will matter."

"Let me see your guns, Jimmy," I say to him.

Jimmy's red eyes open, and he jumps up to get them, but he only makes it to the pool table. He lies down on it and gets all sleepy.

Flash puts his arm around me. He feels warm and smells like some food I can't put my finger on. "You're gonna be all famous, and I'll be the cook for your band." He takes his glasses off and starts cleaning them on his sweatshirt. The glasses are clean, but he cleans them anyway. Habit.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm gonna make some noise." I pick up Dad's guitar by the neck and begin to strum the blues, staring at the birdbath. Flash gives me a noogie and fills up the big bong. Jimmy talks in his sleep. I play until I can't move my fingers. Then I shake them and play some more until I'm sweating, sweating like I'm on stage with thousands of people staring at me, yelling my name, smiling, smoking their cigarettes, letting me hang up my plaque. Me and Flash get stoned off our rockers and laugh at Jimmy who wakes up when his Mom comes down the stairs when she gets back from Blueberry Hill and thinks she better check on him for once.

"Let me see your guns, Jimmy," I say because it's too quiet, crazy quiet.

"Mom, does your boyfriend stick his dick in light sockets?" he asks her. And she shakes her head and walks to the upstairs, which I have never seen. She doesn't talk back to Jimmy because Jimmy has guns. She just stares like a crowd stares before the music begins when Mr. Slosher says, "You ready?"

Jimmy laughs all loud crazy then starts nodding off again, spread-eagled on the pool table. Flash goes over, pokes his shoulder 'cause he's worried Jimmy might choke on his puke or something ridiculous like that. Sometimes, it's hard to wake Jimmy unless you stick forks in his mouth. And then he'll just wake up and puke in the birdbath.

I keep yelling, "Let me see your guns," and Flash keeps poking him, until Jimmy wakes up and punches him in the mouth. "Let me sleep," he says.

"Jesus, Jimmy, it's me," Flash says to him, wiping his mouth, which probably hurts and will hurt more tomorrow. The whole scene will stick in his mind like a bad tune.

Jimmy opens his eyes up some more, rubs them, and says, "Sorry man." Flash and I know he means it 'cause he messes his hair up when he says it, and that means he's telling the truth. Sometimes the truth is messy that way. Then Jimmy slurs, "Hey, Moe, me and Flash'll help you get that plaque back, even if I have to beat the shit out of your old lady. She probably stuffed it under your dad's old clothes in the basement or something," right before he passes out for real, when there's no waking him.

"All right," I say. And sometimes it was.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Wolf Hiding.

 

Shot on film. <3 Sometimes, you don't get an answer. This week, I was talking on the phone to a friend, and I said those very words, and a hawk flew right next to me, nearly brushing my shoulder. The unknowns. Accepting such things can be incredibly difficult, particularly for one with OCD, like me. 

Remembering to stay humble. Remembering that faith rolls in when I think this:  I have no idea. Show me what to do.

I am trying to understand that no answer is an answer. <3 Tough stuff for me to accept, but I see that, and I know it's true. People have all sorts of feelings. People have all sorts of ways of going about life. And I have no idea where someone might be coming from. What's my business? Do the next right thing, right? 

Time to get in the shower. I'm filthy, and I'm thinking too much and so, now I'm laughing. XO. Time to get back to my heart, right here, right now. Hope you have a beautiful evening! 

Love to you, 

C.A. MacConnell

Tiny, Right Actions

Secretly, inside random churches, I've been playing awesome grand pianos and also, I've been banging around on untuned, ancient, broken pianos, writing some new songs. While I'm waiting on news about my nonfiction, I've been creating new fiction. Much of my next book is rolling around in my head, but some of it is already written; my books always begin this way. I've been taking photos, seeing the beauty in all of the little things.

I create nonstop, the same way that I always have, as far back as I can remember. I've never been one to "take breaks." Simply, creating is a part of my life, a part of who I am, and I just roll with it, whether the final product is dark, humorous, uplifting, spiritual, hilarious, gritty, or light. And every time I create something new, whether it be photos or songs or writing, no matter my age, I feel like a child again.

What a journey.

And creating is an enormous part of my personal growth.

A recent upheaval of change pushed me into riding a wave of feelings but now, when joy rolls in, it's a new kind of joy...so calm...a new, lasting peace, a new kind of happy, a feeling that's settling in as the result of hard, internal work. It's taken a warrior-like amount of intensity, faith, and trust; I've learned to practice long term patience, make difficult decisions, persist through primal feelings (tumultuous rage, loss, and fear), maintain a place of humility, sit with enduring physical pain, live in the moment, consistently pray away fear, pursue decades of continuing professional help, and listen to the strong support of spiritual advisers, among many, many other things. Many days, the feelings were so fierce, the goal was to simply stay sober and stay alive. And that in itself, friends, can be a lofty goal.

I always say, "I've never been perfect at this mess we call 'life,' but one thing I'm good at is this: I keep trying."

Trying.

Trying is everything.

Yesterday, a woman, a stranger, told me I was beautiful. Looking into her eyes, I could tell that she meant that she was connecting with my spirit, and I drank in that complement, because our bodies, faces, fingers, and toes are merely a shell of who we are; it's all about the heart. And when it comes to my heart, I believe that my journey is one that's leading me into connection -- how to better love and be loved. And if, in the process, that creates some kind of beauty, well, then I consider it a "big win." Because now she's not a stranger. Now she's a new friend.

And so, what's next? I am not concerned about that. Right here, right now, I feel whole, and that is something. Truly, that is a miracle.

Of course, when I'm done writing to you, I suppose I'll decide on some breakfast, brush my teeth, wash my face, and get ready for the day. And if I have moments of doubt, if I fall back into old thinking, if all things again turn overwhelming, I have learned that perhaps the answer is simply this:  do something small and above all else, never give up.

My experience has shown me that tiny, right actions add up, creating ridiculous, awesome miracles.

Love to you.

C.A. MacConnell

Lost Glove 60.

 

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Moment.

 

Hi, I took this just now. <3 it. Feels so free. And I felt free when I took it. It's all about perspective, aye? Hope you like the shot. One of my new faves.

Just FYI, if you're on my FB page or whatnot, it's been acting wacky. I'm sure it'll all roll out eventually. But hey, a buddy of mine had someone hack in and repeatedly write that she loves to poop her pants. That particular hacker hasn't found me yet, but if they do, I will surely leave the genius msgs alone although, please rest assured that soiling myself is not one of my favorite activities.

Always good to laugh at this shit. C.A. MacConnell

Discovery

Even with all of the gadgets and such these days, when kids enter nature/gardens, they are absolutely entranced by snakes, frogs, fish, and the like. I suppose that goes for me as well. Trampoline jumping has never gone out of style either, although if you try it as an adult, it's much harder than you remember, ha. An interesting "quiet mode" often enters into children when they get around horses or larger animals too. They're like, "Wait a minute, better listen a little." Ha.

There is no replacement for nature.

Along with this theme, I watched Don't Look Up yesterday; I thought it was quite interesting, and I enjoyed the acting, and I loved the bursts of strange humor throughout the piece, but my thought was that there could've been more punch, particularly with sound, short nature shots worked in differently with more of a direct connection/pattern (ie, directly related to characters, or more of these, not directly related), and more close-ups. Just a thought I had, because the message was powerful, but could've been more so with a close-knit pattern, in my book. Emotion could carry more weight, with different editing. Just the writing/editing critic in me creeping out. :) In great fiction, poetry, songs, nature...there's a pattern (or in some cases, an "anti-pattern" that unfolds, and the pattern is what grabs). Not that I'm perfect at it in my work, hell no, but I'm aware and sometimes, I nail it. 

Check out my books here.

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

 

Good Morning.

Good morning! Please check out my books here! I think you'll be surprised. So gripping, raw, real, and sometimes, humorous. Always, fast-paced, creative, slick, and engaging. 

Hope you have a beautiful day! I'll be babysitting all day. Wish me luck, ha. They're great. Here's a photo for you. Something from my life, actually. Johnny and me. A horse I trained. :) Indeed, those are beige chaps, although the pic makes it look like I have no pants on, haha. Always good to laugh at yourself. XO, C.A.

Little Yellow House.

 

Good morning. I've often dreamed of a little, yellow house I could call my own.

If you begin to tunnel into anxious thoughts, try telling yourself this:  slow it down. Something that helps me throughout my day. A simple, but powerful little mantra. 

Happy Wednesday. I would really like to have pancakes and take the day off. :) However, there's work to do. Perhaps I'll get a surprise lucrative order to deliver, and I'll be able to rest. Never know, happens sometimes. :) Not much, but it happens.

I'm working on some new stuff behind the scenes. Until then, here's a photo for you.

Sending you hope and light. Love to you!
C.A. MacConnell

One Feather.

 

Howdy. Just a simple shot I like. Saw so many incredible birds today, and they lift my heart, for sure. My totem animal is the hawk and so, I pay close attention. I've had some really unique encounters with them, especially today. Magic, for sure. <3 Always reminds me that something is out there pulling for me, pulling for you. Gives me a sense of humility, awe, and wonder.

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell