Current: There is some great bravery in putting yourself forth as someone
who is actually worth something.
RE: The Sun: Letter to the Editor
show details 11:41 AM (2 hours ago)
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Mr. or Ms. Saunders
Editorial Associate, The Sun
From: The Sun Contact Form on behalf of Faith Rhyne
Sent: Tuesday, February 09, 2010 5:07 PM
Subject: The Sun: Letter to the Editor
That’s a hefty assignment for a high school dropout, Mr. or Ms. Saunders. I’ll get right on it.
New Feature: Faith self-publishes her responses to The Sun’s Readers Write prompts!
I am such a loser. But, a loser has little to lose.
show details 1:27 PM (41 minutes ago)
I haven’t drawn much in the past couple of days, save for all the little gel-pen birds. More than two people (not related to me) told me this week that I write well. Actually, the word they used was “beautifully”
(What a word! I think of camellias, in my great-grandmother’s yard.)
And so away I went, tick-tack-click, cooking up plans and scheming up schemes…trying to shove drawing into it all somewhere. I have been using almost all my “free” time chasing ideas.
I feel like a puma, a puma who has a lot of unfolded laundry. Because my free time isn’t really free. My free time belongs to this house and all who inhabit it. I feel deeply indulgent to have spent so many hours this week in such self-absorbed pursuits.
A puma chasing its tail.
I don’t know when I’m going to get around to all these things I plan. I have the birds twisted and tied to small envelopes bearing their likeness. Presents for Strangers. The only problem is that in order to complete the launch of this project, I would need to actually make good on my word to try to place them in at least one store by…sheesh, tomorrow.
Why did I set myself up like that? Oh, well…does it count if I just submit one as a prototype to Art-O-Mat? Keep the 2.50 I’d make off of each one all to myself? Or, better yet, sell them at Malaprops for 5.00 a piece and let this nice local bookstore keep some of the money? Say I’ll give 25 percent of the profits to Asheville City Schools P.T.O.s? Did I really say I’d give ALL of the proceeds to Asheville City Schools? Hmmm, let me check…yes. Yes, I did.
Stupid me. I forgot I’d have to talk to people about this, booksellers, and P.T.O. People. Parents whose houses are clean and well-lit, as opposed to mine which is dusty and dim.
I think someone must have given me the idea that in the community at large, I am not worth shit.
Dang. That’s a long story for another day.
Really, why do I feel like I have to GIVE AWAY everything that is made by my heart or my hands. What sin is in the selling? This is debatable.
I wish there was a way to get paid to just draw everyday and write away hours while taxes go unfiled and laundry unfolded, give away all my little birds, ’cause they’re meant as presents and who sells presents?
The whole g-dang world that’s who. So, I’ll approach Malaprops, perhaps Downtown Books and News and see if I can put the birds on their counter for donations, 10 percent for the store, 25 percent for the schools, and the rest I keep because I’m worth more than free.
I’ll do it tomorrow. Because bills were due two days ago. So there.
Subject: Re: Valiance
Sent: Feb 9, 2010 10:39 PM
And then I spilled a cup of coffee on my turquoise pants, right on my lap.
I hadn’t even gone to work yet.
My days are fullfullfull. And yet, not. I suppose that’s why I keep reaching out to strangers and waiting for words to bounce back at me. Once I close the door to home in the afternoon, there is only me, the cats and dogs, a grey day outside, a million ideas tangled in the blankets. And I’m invisible again, waiting for the kids to get home and another round of up the stairs and down the stairs to begin.
Sent: Feb 9, 2010 8:23 PM
This evening, I am trying to muster a well-spring of some sort. However, all that rises is a bit of a fever. My body temperature is hovering just below a hundred. Warm and stuffy enough to make me feel like I have a blanket stuffed between my ears.
Another damp grey day. The clouds have dispersed a bit this evening and hang in the sky like pale horses, standing like they’re stunned. No rain for now. This morning it felt like Spring was not impossible. The ground was less frozen, my footsteps did not ring back at me.
Here is a snap-shot of this day, a Tuesday. Woke up to a digital clock that read ‘6:19’ – did the math, figured 5:55 was the actual time. Almost forty minutes past my usual waking hour. The children were waking up, their sleepy bleating voices beckoning me up the stairs and down the stairs and back again. I somehow made breakfast four times: instant oatmeal, cheese grits, a bowl of cereal, half a bagel(burnt) –
The chickens escaped their sculpture again, roosted on the top step last night. A line of chicken poop guarding the porch like some kind of voodoo.
No time for a shower, but my hair looked like Scott Baio’s. Head under the faucet.