Month: November 2025

Poem: “Maybe My Request Is Too Abstract”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A piece of white blue lined notebook paper with a shimmer of rainbow crossing it.I’ve been participating in a poem-a-day challenge this month. The goal is to create a chapbook worthy of submission, but my personal goal is to do some healing via poetry. I picked a specific theme, a healing focus if you will, and I’ve been using the daily prompts to write to it.

Have I healed any? Probably not. But I have analyzed and examined the wound I’m working on and I’ve concluded that it’s made for some decent poetry. However, because this topic is so personal, it hasn’t been poetry that I’ve wanted to share. I’d feel too exposed to put it out there for other eyeballs.

However, there is one poem that’s figurative enough that it feels safe to share. It comes from the Day 19 prompt of Six Words. The words were submitted by folks and the guy running the poem-a-day challenge picked six of them -bubble, dandelion, gibberish, gnarled, roiling, and squint. The goal was to use at least three of them in a poem.

I’m an overachiever. I used all six. Utilizing my usual free verse style made it easy.

Maybe My Request Is Too Abstract

a dandelion fluff wish in a bubble
squint and the hope flashes iridescent
pop it and it sounds like gibberish
a gnarled love prayer
roiling into the ether
blown away and ignored

Patrons in the Wild

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A picture of a row of library books illuminated by several hanging bare bulbs. Image by StockSnap from Pixabay.Please note that the title of this post is IN the wild, not GONE wild. That’s a totally different topic.

If you’re just tuning in and are unfamiliar with my lore, I live in a small town and work at the library in said small town. It’s one of those towns that there’s a good chance you know someone’s name or face if you not both, especially if you grew up here, went to school here, and/or work with the public here.

So, the other day, I went to the grocery store and ended up in line in front of a regular patron at the library where I work. As soon as he got in line behind me, he spoke, we exchanged pleasantries, and bid each other a good day as soon as I was done putting my groceries in my cart. It was a perfectly cromulent interaction.

A few days later, I had to go back to the grocery store for the third time that week (it was an ORDEAL) and I ended up saying hello to a different regular patron as we passed each other.

After spending years hermiting, I’m still getting used to this sort of interaction. I’m used to traveling through my day without running into anyone I know well enough to say hello or being recognized out of context. The context in this case, of course, being the library. I do believe we’ve discussed before how I struggle with the object permanence of myself.

Anyway, I’ve had several of these interactions in the last year since I started leaving my house more and acquiring something of a social life. I ran into one regular patron while waiting to be seated with my friend for breakfast at a popular local joint and we ended up chatting about her husband (also a regular) and his latest shenanigans. On another occasion, I said hello to a patron I knew as my friend and I were finding our seats for a showing of Men in Black at the local theater.

The funny thing was that both of those times the bestie I was with, Haley, also said hello to people, which is the norm. Haley knows EVERYBODY in town (she’s related to a good chunk of them), so going anywhere in town with her (and sometimes out of town) is like going out with a celebrity. Expect to get stopped. Usually, I just stand there patiently and awkwardly while she chats for a minute. It’s all good. It’s been the usual for decades and I’m cool with it.

So, it was a real twist to be able to participate in this phenomenon because someone knew me. I was able to chat with my regular patron while she chatted with the lady she knew because they happened to be going to breakfast together, too. It was a wild experience that I hadn’t anticipated.

For someone with anxiety who prefers her social interactions to happen in their usual contexts -like talking to patrons in the library- because I otherwise feel unprepared to people, I’m pleasantly surprised with how well I’ve done encountering patrons in the wild.

There may be hope for me and my social life yet.

Untitled Tree

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Two trees in autumn. The bigger one has golden-orange leaves. The smaller one has red leaves and is more sparse. They stand out against a blue sky and the houses behind them.I realize the title of this post sounds arty, but it’s nothing of the sort. I just couldn’t come up with a clever title.

I try to blog here about once a week (though, let’s be honest, no one notices if I don’t), but there are times when topics are hard to come by. This is one of those times.

So, let’s talk about leaves.

This autumn has been a strange one because the leaves changed late this year. Really late. Like, if it were a woman, it would have taken ten pregnancy tests. We were less than two weeks out from Halloween and most of the trees were still green.

For context, let’s look at my neighbors’ trees.

My neighbor next door has a tree in her backyard that’s one of my favorites because it changes color from the top down, usually starting in late September or early October. In years past, it’s done almost an ombre kind of thing, where it sort of ripples down from orange to yellow. It’s so pretty. I’m in love with that tree in the autumn. It typically holds onto its leaves for the most part -it’s usually still pretty vibrant through Halloween- but in the first part of November, it drops its leaves in a hurry. It feels like it goes from full to naked in a day. I’m sure my neighbor feels that way, too. After all, she’s the one raking it.

This year, it was only a couple of weeks out from Halloween before it started to change. It went through that ombre ripple in record time and dropped its leaves on schedule, around the end of the second full week of November.

My neighbor across the street has a huge tree that I’ve loved since I was a kid. It’s even shown up in a few of my short stories. It’s been marked by the city for removal because it’s technically theirs and it’s unfortunately sick beyond saving. Until then, it continues to go through the motions of the seasons.

In autumn, it’s usually one of the first trees to turn in about mid-September, going a golden-orange, and typically sheds its leaves before Halloween, which has always been kind of a bummer. It’s made to celebrate Halloween in colorful splendor (it did get toilet papered a lot when I was younger, so in a way, it kind of did celebrate).

This year, it didn’t start changing until the middle of October. It was in full, gorgeous color for Halloween this year. I honestly can’t remember the last time that happened, or if it’s ever happened. Even better, the leaves held on after Halloween, too. It finally shed the majority of them in a couple of big winds earlier this week.

I am blessed to live in a place that has some gorgeous autumn colors painting my little town. And this year, I was able to enjoy them much later than I normally do.

Too bad it was probably because of climate change.

No Words November

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A light brown and light red pen lying on a sheet of lined notebook paper.I admit that the title is a bit of a lie. It’s not that I’m not going to write any words in November. I am participating in the November Poem-A-Day challenge and poems usually do require words. What I mean is that this year, this month, I’m not participating in a big word count endeavor.

2023 was my last official NaNo and last year, instead of participating officially, I used November to incarnate Stateline into a novel form. This will be my first November in a couple of decades that I’m not spending my days stressing about making word counts and trying to cross a finish line.

There’s a list of reasons why I decided to opt out this year. I think the number one reason, the main reason, the only reason that I really need is that this year, I’m all tapped out. I just don’t have the energy to sit down and write at least 1,700 words a day. I’m juggling too many things right now and having trouble keeping all of the balls in the air. I’ve taken on more at the library -namely the two new monthly programs that I started in October- which has required me to bring more of my work home until I get things into a rhythm. I’ve also got more podcast stuff going on this November than I have previous Novembers. And, of course, there’s my role as caregiver for my father, which has lessened in recent months because he’s been doing better (knock all of the wood), but still demands time and energy. (I’m actually writing this blogs post while waiting for him at his latest PET scan).

Last year, in the midst of my father’s rapidly worsening health, his hospitalizations and doctor appointments and ER visits, Carrie’s fall and her doctor appointments and ER visits, I managed to keep up with my daily word count. I managed to write my poem-a-day, too. It was a distraction, a little bit of normalcy in the midst of a swirling storm of chaos. Looking back, I realize that’s the only reason why I did it. Well, that and stubbornness, I suppose. Looking back, I can’t believe that I didn’t give myself a break.

This year, I’m giving myself that break, even if I am dealing with far less chaos and emotional turmoil.

Do I feel guilty about that? Oh yeah. Do I look at other people with busy lives and lists of obligations who still get their writing goals met and feel like an absolute failure? You better believe it. But this year, I’m giving myself permission to give less of a shit about it. Will I actually give less of a shit about it? Probably not. But I have permission.

Even if I did decide to add 50,000 words to my November, I’m not sure I have a story idea in my head that I’d want to spend the month and the words investing in right now. I’ve got one idea that I’ve been kicking around off and on for years now, but it’s still so uncertain of itself that I feel like I’d spend 30 days spewing words that ultimately wouldn’t do me any good. You could argue that writing 50,000 words of yuck could help me develop that story, and you’d have a good argument, but I’d just refer you back to the first point that I made. I don’t have the time or energy right now for that sort of endeavor.

Does that bum me out? Yes. I miss having the spark that would lead me to explore that idea. It reminds me of when writing was hard and I don’t want writing to be hard again. But honestly, it kind of is.

So, this November, I’m going to let writing be a little hard and I’m not going to worry about the number of words I write.

I’ll just let them rhyme.