On Idea Babies and the Creative Process

      Congratulations. You’re pregnant!…with an idea. Men, this applies to you too. Just pretend you’re a sensitive, creative, artistic seahorse. I know that’s exactly how you describe yourself on first dates anyway. Perhaps it went something like this: you’re in the shower, washing your right leg first instead of the usual left leg, and BING. “What if ______, and then ____ happened…”. You jump out of the shower, scribble down a seemingly incoherent stream of thoughts onto whatever you get your hands on first. This might be a napkin, the mirror,  a pizza box (that you had in your bathroom? Gross). For the very organized and fancy creative types you probably have a journal with some 18th century French painting on it, or it’s one of those plain, leather bound jobs — you know, if you’re super serious about this type of thing. You strive to be like Hemingway, and like Hemingway you will be. And then comes the test. You run it by your likewise creative friends and/or mom. You unload the amorphous blob in your brain, wait anxiously for them to punch your card, give the bright eyed, wondrous look of appreciation and intrigue and…BAM. We are go for launch. Houston, we have an idea. Approval won, you fare forth with the rest of this process like Odysseus. Like a damn brilliant and capable Odysseus. The Sirens of Creative Block Island are no match for your sword of genius thought. Or so it seems…

The initial days of idea pregnancy are exciting, as you plan what to do with the future success of your labor and the juices flow like wine from like, the biggest vineyard this side of Heaven. Duh. Nothing is very difficult and all is well. You begin writing, or painting, or whatever it is you like to do. The process rolls on and your idea begins to take shape, growing tiny little hands and feet. You start contemplating a title, a huge job as you want your idea to be able to venture out into the world and find a decent job. Something too long, to pretentious, or too vague might break the little idea’s chances of making it, effectively landing it in the bin of forgotteness, in the Land of No One Gives A Shit. Some of you wait until you see your idea whole and complete for the first time to give it a title. You guys are strange to me. “Untitled Project #48″ sounds too crass a name to assign such a precious piece of work. And whatever idea you find yourself pregnant with is precious, no matter what. It’s always the best idea ever, that is until…

You reach the third trimester of idea pregnancy. By this point, you’ve gained weight as a result of trying to eat your way through writers block (or _(pick your craft)_ block). This baby is giving you problems. The symmetry isn’t right, the plot isn’t working, the characters are undefined and flat. You begin to wonder why you hoped to get knocked up in the first place. As an artist and writer, you dream of the day when you can manifest something tangible and wonderful from this initial seed in your brain. This is what makes art and literature and film, so on and so forth, so incredibly amazing. Without the hands to do the translation from mind to world, your piece of brilliance would go forever unknown, and perhaps the world would be less wonderful for not ever having seen it. This is too tremendous a task to ignore if you’ve been charged with the responsibility and passion for it! And now you’ve got this thing, this monkey on your back, that you have to get done. You have to see it through because you’ve come this far already. Many creators know the pains of seeing something so initially beautiful fall to pieces in the end, and wind up in the box of unfinished work that you hide in your closet (mine is a green, plastic tub — full of things I thought were great at one point in my life. It’s a graveyard that I visit once every few years.). And you’re not giving up now! You grit your teeth, bare down on the rag in your mouth and push through. Your canvas is seventy-five percent complete; you’re at page eighty of your screenplay, page 257 of your 400 page novel. On and on you go through the muck and mire, harking back to your Odysseus-esque inspiration. All those kinks and hang-ups, those monumental problems with your idea’s formation will be worked out! They WILL! So help you, this will work. And at the very least, if this is your vomit draft, your first sweep of this idea, you WILL get it all out. You commit yourself to your work area, your office or to the Starbucks down the street from your house. Maybe you stop showering or sleeping regularly. Your friends begin to notice. You mumble notes about color or character arcs. They don’t understand you and begin to fear for your sanity. But you’re merrily/desperately/mildly insanely seeing it through because you resolved yourself to completion, and because for God’s sake, you’re about to graduate college and you need to enter the world with samples. This student loan debt is going to pay itself. Failure is not an option! And then, happily, you brush the last stroke of green in the corner, the last word on the last page of whatever fiction you’re writing, and you collapse. Right there on the floor. The idea is out. You pushed the biggest piece of creativity through the tiniest holes of your hands, your eyes, your very heart and soul. And there it sits, staring back at you — the most beautiful thing in all the world because it’s your creation. It’s the result of months, sometimes years, of intensive labor and obsessive thinking, of joyously productive days and sleepless nights. It is, at the very least, finished.

I’ve maintained a love/hate relationship with the creative process since I discovered its existence. On the one hand, I’m proud, thrilled, and ecstatic that I’m wired for this type of thing. It fuels me. It’s relieving to know a cubicle is not now, nor will it ever be, the place for a weirdo like myself. I can make my own hours and things like “people watching” are required tasks. That’s cool and exciting. Not to take away from the virtue of professions like accounting or VCR repair, it’s just I’ve never found myself with a passion for mechanics or numbers or anything in that vein. And as equally as I love creative work, I struggle with the inevitable problems that arise when trying to summon something into the universe from the recesses of a sometimes cloudy mind. I’m the boss, and those problems are mine to own and solve. Of course another bummer is poverty. Womp-womp-womp-wahhhh. There isn’t always a lot of money in these kinds of ventures. You slave away at a pizza joint for scraps of cash to pay the bills, continually producing work with the hope you can make a living out of it and with no guarantee you ever will. Some artists and writers will disagree with me here, emphasizing we should make art for art’s sake. While I admire these people, the world doesn’t run on hugs and dreams and I have to eat. So I’ll take money for my work any day of the week, stopping short of selling out. I do have a soul after all.

But for all of you freaks, weirdos, craftspeople, painters, writers, filmmakers, photographers, and all the rest of you: press on. Climb the mountain of Artistic Struggle (somebody start playing some orchestral John Williams right here), laugh and cry along the way, and when you get to the top, find a nice, soft spot to give birth to that living thing that’s been growing inside you for as long as you can remember. Continue to populate the earth with ideas; I don’t think we can ever have too many. I’ll continue as always with my toils and triumphs (both equally stimulating)…mainly because there is no real Plan B.

Fact: The world needs us. The world needs creativity. The world needs you…and your baby. So cough it up.

Coming of Age: Bohemia releases May 2013 edition.

Explore our 12th issue and all of our others at www.bohemia-journal.com

In Bohemia: Coming of Age, you can find some of the following stories.

Pg 2 ABCs various poets

The Coming of Age issue cultivated a variety of poetry submissions to theme. Some wrote about getting a first shave; others wrote about hard lessons learned when leaving home.

Pg 14 What Happens When You Put Crayons, Markers, Pencils, Even Rocks and Sticks, In A Child’s Hands? by Katie Croft

This article celebrates children’s art.

Pg 16 My Life As an Existentialist by Meg Miller

Miller describes high school experiences of faking sick notes, being forced to  twirl umbrellas at water ballet show, and discovering existentialist philosophy with her best friend likening herself and mindset to something like Ferris Bueller.

Pg 18 Disaster Strikes: The Junkyard shoot by Cynthia Wheeler, story by Lorelei Lee

Springtime mensware set in a whimsical photo shoot.

Short Attention Span Adventures: Fireflies

I’m in North Carolina.

Actually, as of this coming Friday, I live here.  It’s not that I don’t love Waco.  Waco will always have a special place in my heart.  Life, in its devious twists and turns, has sent me to North Carolina.   But that’s not the point of this post.

The point of this post is fireflies.

They’re (allegedly) all over the place here  and I’m waiting, because I have a thing for fireflies.  They’re due any day now.

I have a thing about fireflies (or if you prefer, “lightnin’ bugs”) because I grew up in a place where they didn’t exist.  I only read about them, exotic things from another land or maybe another planet.  The first time I  saw any  I was dumbfounded.

Now I live somewhere where they are commonplace and the six-year-old inside me is jumping up and down saying “are they here yet? are they here yet?”.  Not unlike waiting for the sky to get dark enough for fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Oh, we had the occasional firefly in Crawford.  They came out singly and I always felt a little sorry for them in their solitary attempts to find a mate.  Forever alone.  (Of course they must have found someone, or else we wouldn’t see them anymore.  Unless it was the same lonely firefly, year after year.  It’s too sad to think about.)

Not only are there (allegedly) scads of them here, in one nearby part of the Smoky Mountains  there is a particular species whose members all flash in unison like Christmas lights, or some over-the-top Broadway musical number.

I’m ready.  I have a folding chair, and an adult beverage.  Are they here yet?

Boho Interviews: Lindsey Stirling, the Dancing Violinist by Gary Lee

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Lindsey Stirling, a musician and a composer, well known for combining dance with her exquisite violin performances. According to various sources on the internet, she has been doing both since a young child. Her family could only afford lessons for one, and she chose violin. Thus, her dance is self-taught: a testament to her strength and determination – I certainly cannot tell that she never had a dance lesson.

At this point, she has been both dancing and playing the violin for two decades: a virtuoso who is a delight to watch. And she has made quite a name for herself over the years. In 2005, she became Arizona’s Junior Miss, and went on to place first in the talent category at the national level. In 2010, she became a quarter-finalist on America’s Got Talent. Afterwards, she began making You-Tube videos with Devin Graham, and now has two You Tube channels with over a quarter billion views. Yes, “billion” with a “B”. In September 2012, she put out an eponymous CD, “Lindsey Stirling” (Word of the day: “eponymous” means “relating to the person for whom something is named”). And finally, she has been touring the US and Europe, giving performances to sell-out crowds. Busy lady!

Finders Keepers by Erica

I became an avid NPR listener when I graduated from college. Since moving to Waco, I have pretty much listened to 103.3 KWBU and nothing else. Through NPR, I feel like I can engage with the rest of the world in a meaningful way. I spend most of my life “out of the loop” so to speak, so at times, NPR feels like a really knowledgeable friend who keeps me updated about all the relevant things I should know about.

My favorite section of NPR is Weekend Edition’s Three Minute Fiction. The premise is simple: you are to submit an original short story that can be read in three minutes or less on air. The word limit is usually 600 words. They have rounds every three months or so, and each round, they invite an author judge to provide a prompt for the upcoming round. I’ve submitted stories for the last three rounds. Now, I wasn’t a finalist and it’s hard to say how far in the judging any of my stories went, but it’s fascinating to watch as NPR posts finalists to their website. I don’t always agree with the selections, but some are so compelling it makes me wish I could write like that.

This round’s prompt is Finders Keepers: the story has to include something that was found that the protagonist doesn’t want to return. You have one week to submit a story. I don’t know how I’m going to manage that, since most of the time you have about 2-3 weeks to submit, but I’m on to the challenge.

To secure my chances of winning, I won’t share any of my ideas on this blog (not that I have any yet) BUT, I will tell some stories that fit the prompt, in 600 words or less.

My favorite pair of flip flops are ones that I found in a lost and found bin while at sleep-away camp in high school. They weren’t mine, but they fit perfectly and I decided to take them. I still have these flip flops. Over time, they have molded to my foot like a glove. They fit me better than any other pair of shoes I own. When I look at them, there is a black imprint of a foot that is visible that no foot but mine could fill. It seems strange to me that anyone but me could have worn these flip flops.

My violin used to belong to my mom. When I came of age and advancement that I required a better violin, she loaned me hers. I’ve played on that instrument for half of my life, and I have no intention of ever returning it. For a musician, their instrument is an extension of themselves. To hear her occasionally refer to it as “her” violin makes me angry beyond belief because for fourteen years, it’s been my voice to speak music through, and I would not ever want a different instrument. At the same time, a part of me knows that I have no claim to it, just like no one really has any claim to anything.

For me, there’s a real philosophical and ethical bend to this prompt. What claim to we have to anything, really? What makes an object mine instead of someone else’s? How do you come to a meaningful and satisfactory understanding of ownership that exists beyond arbitrary boundaries? Is there EVER an answer to the question of what belongs to someone? To claim something as yours is a need that only humans seem to obsess over, since animals seem content to just pee on it.

Anyway, I hope I have encouraged you to check out Three Minute Fiction! It’s a great resource for writers, and an excellent exercise in creative thought.

Zombie Western Instrumental in Waco by Caleb

Zombie Western states on their Facebook page:  “our lead singer is mute”.  Finding a niche for themselves on the local music scene as an instrumental group without a vocalist has been a challenge for Waco’s Zombie Western. However, they have made their mark and continue to win over new fans. Furthermore, they own it. If Zombie Western were art, then they’d be minimalistic, raw street art rather than a buttered up and decorated Thomas Kincaid painting. Zombie Western is bare bones.

Actually, for Zombie Western, being an instrumental group is only one component of their musical equation. The band has been playing music in Waco since 2009 and in that time has built up quite the fan base — comprised of people who enjoy the intensity that the group brings during every show. Listeners like their brushstrokes of instrumentation layered on top of itself. The band creates soundscapes for their audience, a visceral experience.

Zombie Western didn’t start out with a plan of being an instrumental band, “The songs we were writing just didn’t have verse chorus verse chorus structure and we gradually found ourselves writing these types of songs” says Zombie’s guitarist Aaron Youngblood. Usually when asked about their style, people mention Explosions in the Sky because of having little other context for instrumental music, but in the same way there is a host of styles of lyrical bands,  so there is also a number of styles for instrumental bands. To describe Zombie Western, one might say they are a band with big guitar washes and some more immediate rifts that are more heavy driven. “Our music just gets to the point faster than a lot of other instrumental bands” says Youngblood.

The way Zombie Western’s music is set up creates a situation which leaves the narration up to the listener. Nothing is spoon fed while listening to their music. One has to be willing to be fully present in the songs to grasp everything that is happening.  Hearing the band’s music entices the listener to focus and take in the whole experience, letting the music be the soundtrack to the story one is constructing while the song plays. “The listener has a much more participatory role” says Youngblood. The music does create soundscapes and (perhaps through the suggestion in “western”) one can’t help at moments as though the band takes you through a modern version of an old school showdown.

I was listening to a song at a friend’s house with the headphones when his roommate asked to take a light bulb from his bathroom because his last one went out. As Zombie Western provided the backdrop I began filling in the soundtrack with a dramatic dialogue between the two of them. They were discussing the consequences of taking the light bulb, what might happen if his light went out while in the shower or on the john, and the soundtrack created the dramatic — it created words in their mouths as they discussed. Once I took my headphones out, they were easily solving the issue, but having the instrumental music in my headphones filled in what they were saying like a dramatic silent film. This is what Zombie Western’s music does: it lets you fill in your story and there are so many great ways to fill in that story. Whatever the listener may bring, may be struggling with…Zombie Western hands the listener a canvas that their immediate plight can paint, thoughts can be exposited, which is one of the geniuses of this band. They really do invite the listener to either enjoy the complex instrumentation or, perhaps, to go a bit deeper. It is like opening a Choose Your Own Adventure book, where Zombie Western writes the words but the listener must decide which direction they really are going to take the narrative.

You can come experience Zombie Western in a live performance at the new True Love on Franklin tomorrow with Cellar Door and Brian Patterson in a Waco Music Co-op show. Their latest album is also streaming on Bandcamp at http://zombiewestern.bandcamp.com.

Short Attention Span Adventures: The Canadian Invasion

We are currently in an RV park in Florida.  It is winter, and I’m reminded that Florida is a favored destination for Canadian snowbirds (Canadians who flee the snow and ice to spend the winter months where it’s sunny, usually Florida, Arizona and California and Texas).

You may not realize that Canadians are among us.  You would not be blamed, for they look just like us.  But there are some tell-tale giveaways for those who observe carefully.

Put Up, Or Shut Up, By Albert

I have written several blogs about giving back and using our skills to help the youth of today. As writers we have God given skills that enable us to communicate across many types of boundaries. We give people reasons to laugh, cry or go to places they have never been, with only a few pages of words and phrases. That skill and ability has been ours since childhood and somehow, we managed to bring it out.  My question to everyone is; how did this blessing get developed? Or did someone help you bring it out?

For me it was brought out by someone else who was already a published author. I was in my late thirties when this happened. I truly wish that I would have tried to draw out this talent at a younger age. So here goes. I volunteered to be a big brother a few weeks ago. I am looking forward to getting paired with a young man that appreciates the arts and maybe influence the next generation of writers and bloggers.

I have been mulling it over in my head for a while. I don’t have children of my own but feel I need to give something back, on a one to one basis where I can give back and possibly have a positive influence on a young person.  My communication with my new “little” brother will be via email every week and one personal visit every six weeks. The majority of our conversations will be written text. I get to use my gift to hopefully enlighten someone’s day.

We have so many talented writers at Bohemia and I am sure those talents have been there, just waiting to bubble at the right time. What if we could help a young high school student bring out those abilities earlier in their life? We have no obligation to mentor and develop others, but we do have the ability and opportunity to do so.

I will let everyone know how this experience moves along and hopefully some of you may want to try this out also. Here goes!

So Very Alive: New Zealand, Part 2 by Jessica

When I last left you, I was on a perilous sea crossing…

… and then the ferry finally docked, and I. Had. Survived.

I thought I might have scurvy though.

Regardless, I made my way off and over to the new Magic van/bus for the South Island part of the trip. There were more people on this bus, but we quickly got underway. The driver was probably in his 40s and possibly one of the kindest men I’ve met. … and well, I’m not normally one to judge people on music considering the number of *NSYNC (and related) concerts I’ve been to, but the entire drive to Nelson and then the following day to Greymouth was accompanied by the entire Kelly Clarkson catalog with some James Blunt thrown in for good measure. It might have been very slightly better than Skrillex (who I generally like) at 9pm in the Grampians in that bus with the drunk people when I was sick, but it was a close call.

Getting Out of a Funk by Getting Out of Your Comfort Zone by Katie Croft

Get Out of Your Comfort Zone.

Do you get stuck sometimes? Stuck in the proverbial rut maybe? Or bored? I do. I also get, well, afraid: Afraid to try new things, to step outside of my comfort zone. Some of these things illicit a mild discomfort, others sheer animalistic panic. When those fears build up around me, trapping me– that is when I feel stuck and unable to move forward, backward, up or down. It isn’t a depression; it’s more a feeling of boredom, fear and discomfort with daily life.

 

Weekend Checklist : April by Dominik Young

G’day my fellow Bohemians! Guess what’s back…..THE WEEKEND CHECKLIST! And it’s going to be a BUSY weekend.

Earth day, 2013 by Jim McKeown

Since tomorrow is Earth Day, I thought I would honor the animals in our lives.  This tradition dates back to the day set aside for the memory of Francis of Assisi who lived in the early 13^th century.  Today, it remains as a way for animal lovers to honor and renew the relationship we have with our pets and the special role all animals play in our lives.

In 1848, Cecil F. Alexander wrote an iconic poem about the animal kingdom — “All Things Bright and Beautiful.”  Here are some memorable lines from that work:

Short Attention Span Adventures: 10 After 10

No, no, no, the watch. We’re talking about the watch.

Have you ever noticed that in every magazine advertisement for watches, the watch is always set for 10 minutes after 10?

This kind of stuff attracts my attention, and fortunately for you, I’m willing to spend the time (no pun intended, well, not much anyway) to get to the bottom of these things.  Fortunately for me, we have the great and mighty interwebs to turn to for answers.  And what better place to start than that crowd-sourced answer machine, wiki.answers.com? Surely someone here can explain it to us – how about:

10 after 10 is allegedly the time Kennedy died, and watches in ads show this as a gesture of respect.  (Variant:  10 after 10 is the time Lincoln died.)

I have to admit theories like this fascinate me, and keep Snopes.com in business.  Advertisers do things for many reasons, but generally they are not whimsical unless whimsy sells. (For the record, neither died at 10:10.)

As far back as 1926, according to an article in the New York Times, watch manufacturers have set the watches in their ads to 10 after 10.  An earlier unwritten convention set watches at 8:20; either way, the idea was to prevent the hands from interfering with the logo.   A spokesman for Swatch said that his company has always photographed watches primarily at 10:10, because “they’re smiling instead of a sad man’s face”.  

As more and more people come to rely on their smart phones rather than watches for the time, this quirk in advertising may become a quaint item of nostalgia, like the Kool-Aid Pitcher Man.  (You know, the Kool-Aid Pitcher Man…oh, never mind.)  Apple’s iPhone has its own advertising convention; most of the phones’ displays are set to 9:42, allegedly the time Steve Jobs first introduced the phone at a MacWorld conference in 2007.

For the time being (see what I did there?) the 10:10 phenomenon is one of those things that once seen, cannot be unseen.  You can thank me later.

Better Than Television: The Moth

Starlee Kine telling her story, “Radical Honesty” on the Moth.

Recently, I have melted into a puddle that consists of equal parts Rocky Road ice cream, alcohol, and self-loathing. Mostly because I think little pieces of Kurt Cobain and Sylvia Plath and possibly even Amanda Bynes were re-incarnated into me when they died (okay, so Amanda Bynes isn’t dead, but her career is, and that’s basically the same thing when you’re a child star.) Instead of doing yoga and hanging out with my friends, I have been indulging in a new hobby/vice: Listening to the Moth on the radio until my heart explodes with the beauty of spoken word stories. And sure, it’s made me a bit of a recluse, but the stories that are shared by regular human beings are far more entertaining, dramatic, and heartfelt than any of the movies that won Academy Awards this year.

Started in 1997 by George Dawes Green, the Moth’s purpose was to preserve the feeling Green felt on summer evenings back in his hometown in Georgia, spinning tales on the back porch with his friends. It has since grown from a small community of “Moths” in New York City to a living, breathing  event spanning cities across the country.

The Moth’s popularity grew in 2009 with the Peabody Award winning Moth Radio Hour that offers a weekly podcast to lovers of spoken word. Speakers range from the notable, (Margaret Cho, Rachel Dratch, and Molly Ringwald, to name a few) to the infamous—I couldn’t stop laughing while listening to a college student named Tristan Jimerson talk about his adventures in trying to catch the woman who stole his identity at a Domino’s Pizza.

The stories are not only compelling, but also addictively educational. The Moth has led me to discover creative individuals that I never knew existed. I was lead to the discovery of Starlee Kine, one of my favorite producers of NPR’s This American Life, through her story, “Radical Honesty.” She talked about the aftermath of a break up that lead to her accidental participation in a cult, describing the hilarious and terrifying details of being stranded at Dr. Brad Blanton’s home in Virginia for a week with a bunch of borderline psychopaths. And then there was Laura Albert, the controversial author of novels like Sarah, The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things, and Harold’s End, who was sued for fraud for signing documents under her pen name J.T LeRoy. She opened up about her struggles with gender identity, her devastating childhood, and how those factors influenced her decision to write fiction from the point of view of a former male prostitute.

Listening to the Moth is better than television. It’s like being privy to a conversation between your best friend and his therapist. Which, in real life, would be a total violation of a person’s most vulnerable, private thoughts. But on the Moth, it’s somehow different. The storyteller is inviting you to bear witness to the most shameful, tearful, hilarious, gut-wrenching, life-altering moment of their existence. And sometimes, their stories are hard to hear. But there’s something so raw and beautiful about listening. Listening without talking or interrupting. Listening without judgment or disinterest. Listening without waiting for your turn to speak.

Everyone has a story to tell. And it might be a funny story that makes your sides ache with laughter, or it might be an eye-opening journey that causes you to learn something new about yourself. Regardless of the content, the message is the same: life goes on. You will survive the embarrassment, the heartache, the helplessness, the joy, the silliness, the adventure, the excitement, the disappointment, the magic, and the mundane. You will get through it, and there are hundreds of testaments to that fact being shared by the brave storytellers at the Moth.

Want to get as addicted to the Moth as I am? Subscribe to their podcast via iTunes, or click here for their most popular stories.

Are You Going to Scarborough Faire? by Gary Lee

Are you going to Scarborough Faire?

Gary Lee Webb in my circular tabard.

This Bohemian did, on opening day, 6 April 2013, taking my daughter and son-in-law (who were kind enough to provide a ride). Every year, I get two free tickets, and this year my kids benefitted. They had recently moved here from Reno, Nevada (earlier in 2013), and so they have not had much opportunity to see this Faire, although they have been to others. Thus this year, when my wife did not want to go to opening day, I treated my newly arrived daughter and son-in-law to the Scarborough Renaissance Festival.

We had not eaten before leaving Waco, so I talked them into checking out another interesting site in eastern Texas: the city of West. Why is West, Texas in east Texas? I explained that the founder’s last name was “West.” I think they enjoyed the kolaches and pastries — the former being something else one does not find in Nevada. Of course, the folks in West are used to people wandering in their stores, this time of year, in Faire garb, so my circular tabard did not even raise an eyebrow.

I should quickly add that the dozen photos below were taken with my camera, thus I am responsible for the amateur photography!

1999 by Erica

In 1999, my dad gave me a cassette tape of Joni Mitchell’s greatest hits. I remember that on the cover of the tape was a black-and-white photo of an old car with a body lying facedown in front of it. The album was just titled “Hits” so I could only assume that the image was a play on the meanings behind it.

I was 14. I’d never heard of Joni Mitchell. Because I always listened to any music my dad bought me, I dutifully went to my discman, popped it in, and began my education about clouds, love and life, three subjects of which I was only sure I knew about the clouds.

I have long since lost that cassette tape and certainly the means to listen to it, but I found the album on Spotify and was just as happy to listen to it at 28 as I was at 14.

I’ve been thinking a lot about next month’s issue “Coming of Age” and what it means to my life. I have been looking through my old journals that I kept from ages 13-17 to try and find inspiration or insight into what it felt like to be me then. It’s a complicated experience to rediscover yourself years later. You have the image in your mind of who you used to be: In the pictures that you find, maybe you looked like an awkward spider because you grew 10 inches overnight-all knees and elbows. Maybe you were chubby because you’d started puberty but hadn’t lost the baby fat. In these images you can see yourself starting to surface through the child that you used to be, but you are neither.

What I found was handwriting that matches mine today, but a mind full of the idle chatter that runs through every teenager’s head. I complained about mean girls and insensitive boys and homework that was hard. I quoted Joni Mitchell songs and Judy Collins’s “Albatross” and thought about making a will just in case I didn’t resurface from my depression and anxiety. I became openly critical of people who were in charge. It doesn’t read like defiance so much as disappointment that adults couldn’t be better than that.

What I remember about 1999 was this electric pulse that seemed to surge through my brain all the time. I thought I was clever and witty and smart, but was so easily wounded when others didn’t see that. Every interaction with a new person (maybe a boy!) sent waves of color through my limbs. I wanted to be beautiful, to be noticed. I wanted to be experienced, to dance with Carey in the sands of whatever exotic city I was in. I talked too much, tripped over my tongue, said things before thinking.

I’m still coming of age. People still have the ability to surprise, delight and disappoint me. I am still learning that people never change, yet are always changing. I still feel that electric pulse in my head, just not as much. I want to keep it there for as long as I can.

Bohemian Scene : Second Chance Prom by Dominik Young

Prom is a memorable night for those who got to go. In some cases, it is seen as an event that defines the rest of one’s life. There are some people who have regrets about prom for whatever reason : perhaps they didn’t (or couldn’t go), had no date, got kicked out, or it wasn’t memorable enough. Well, one band is looking to remedy those regrets with a very special event. Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the Second Chance Prom presented by Rewind Party Band on Saturday, April 27! As the band is getting ready to play a gig at Salty Dog Sports Bar and Grill, Bohemia sat down with band spokesperson Jessica Gomez Seniceros to discuss sponsors, prom tickets, memorable prom moments, and even prom tips.

What led to the creation of this particular event?

Just an idea that Sotero had along with Dustin Drew (formerly of 92.9) a year or so ago. And since 92.9 switched to country, Sotero went ahead with the idea & decided to do it this year.

Based on what you said this is your 1st time doing the “Second Chance Prom”? And how are people responding to this event?

Yes, first time. If it is a success, we (Rewind Party Band) will host one every year. Right now, it’s just a one-time thing to see how it goes. A trial run. People are responding pretty positive to this event. A lot of good feedback. Many are looking forward to it simply because they didn’t attend their prom, had bad experiences with their prom, or they did have a good time and would like to relive that moment. It’s crazy because people think that prom means having a date but this one we got so many friends who are just coming as they are just to have a good time. They’re like “I had a date back then but this one I’m not. So, I’m gonna have more fun just by being by myself.” There’s different scenarios on why they’re going, but that’s why we tell them that they don’t need a date. Your night. Make it for you.

Jilted by the Hoosiers by Caleb Farmer

Watching the Indiana Hoosiers play basketball this year invokes memories of high school. I remember watching friends, maybe a brother or cousin, play in the post season, perhaps as a part of a team which is supposed to have “their year”–or at least it feels that way because these are people you care about, and you truly believe their basketball ability is beyond anything the nameless, inbred chumps from the next town over could possibly possess. Being from rural Indiana where there is no variety in ethnic background, the only slur one can fall back on is the lack of variety in your opponents’ gene pool.

Bohemia Reads: “Philosophy Made Simple”, a novel by Robert Hellenga (Meg)

Rudy is at a crossroads in life.  His wife has died of cancer, and his three daughters have all started their  life adventures.  What’s left for a man who has been in the Chicago produce trade all his life?  His answer comes one Christmas Eve when on a whim, he puts a hand-lettered “For Sale” sign in front of his home.  What follows is a charming tale of the second act in a man’s life, of letting go of the past and embracing the future, intertwined with Western philosophy, Hindu mysticism, avocados, houses of ill repute in Mexico, and an elephant.  It’s a story told with gentle good humor and a more than passing acquaintance with life’s absurdities.

I picked up this book, like so many others, on a remainder table somewhere. (Possibly even at Dollar Tree for a mere buck.)  And as  with many of its remaindered predecessors, I am astounded and outraged that such an enjoyable story should find itself in the last place books go before they become pulped and made into phone directories (sorry if that is too graphic for the squeamish, but it is one of life’s hard realities).

I enjoyed this book so much that I’m now on the lookout for Hellenga’s five other works, “The Sixteen Pleasures”, “The Fall of the Sparrow”, “Blues Lessons”, “The Italian Lover”, and most recently, “Snakewoman of Little Egypt”.   Hopefully I won’t find them on the remainder table as well; my faith in the reading public’s tastes is already pretty battered.  A glance at the New York Times’ bestseller list is enough to make me call for smelling salts sometimes.

Vegas, Baby: Bohemia releases April 2013 edition.

Explore this issue and all of our others at www.bohemia-journal.com

No Kiwis Here: New Zealand, Part 1 by Jessica

There was a line a hundred-people deep at the VirginAustralia economy counter in Melbourne. I had exactly ten minutes before my flight started boarding. I was torn for a couple minutes: I like following proper procedures, but I also like making my flights. Most times, there’s an announcement like so: “Will anyone for Flight #164 please come to the front of the line (or counter #4)?” This time, there wasn’t. I stood in indecision, realized I now had two minutes before boarding started and made my move to the very empty business class counter, shrugging apologetically and explaining I’d miss my flight otherwise.

Five minutes later, I was on my way… but it’s always when I’m already running late that my gate is literally the one farthest from the check-in desk.

This was not a particularly auspicious start to my trip to New Zealand.

Nor was the fact that there was no one waiting for me at the YWAM base. The front doors were locked, there was no one at the front desk, and I couldn’t find anyone on my walk around. Eventually, I found an open door that led to a courtyard and several people learning a Maori stick dance. I just strolled on by them and into the building, so clearly, security wasn’t a big deal. After I opened the front door and brought my bags inside, one of the dancers was sent in to find out who I was and eventually got me situated in a room. Room to myself! Four days to myself! Moderately decent wifi! Bliss.

After sleeping in to a ridiculous time on Wednesday, I caught the local bus to Auckland proper. I was on a mission, to first find Burger Fuel, which Phil Keoghan (host of the Amazing Race and a NZ native whom I met once) had posted a video about on the Amazing Race website, and then to find warm clothes. It was supposed to snow next week. My new inability to pack weather-appropriate clothing meant I only had two pairs of jeans and a summer jacket with me, along with shorts, t-shirts, and sandals, none of which would obviously be useful.

Auckland isn’t a very tourist-y city, and I actually spent most of my time there sleeping, eating, and getting ready for my bus tour of New Zealand. There’s three main bus tours: Stray, Magic, and Kiwi Experience. Kiwi has the party reputation, and Magic had a special on when I booked, so I went with them, and I’m so glad I did. After some Dunkin’ Donuts – which sadly might have been the highlight of my time in Auckland – I was on my way!

If you didn’t know, New Zealand is made up of two major islands, creatively named the North Island and the South Island. My tour went from Auckland on the North Island to Christchurch in the South via a ferry that left from Wellington. This first half of the tour was just on the North Island, and our first day was spent traveling from Auckland to Rotorua… although I opted out of the last bit of the drive because we were passing through something known as Hobbiton.

I’m not a huge Tolkien fan; I’ve read the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Hobbit, and I started the Silmarillion, but I don’t own them nor have I read them more than once. I have seen all the movies though, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to see the Shire. It’s just as amazing as you would think. Unfortunately, the Green Dragon pub was still being built, so it wasn’t part of our tour. Also, it was cloudy and drizzly; I’d love to go back on a bright, sunny day!

the one with black socks is the one I fed

And then I got to bottle-feed a baby sheep! There was even an Irish pub in Rotorua, where I had actual, real Guinness (whilst others had bottles of Corona… why?) and way too much food.

Tawhai Falls

The next morning, we stopped at the thermal mud pools and drove by Tawhai Falls where our driver insisted it was used in LotR in the scene where the people of Gondor find that Gollum has followed Frodo and is bathing in a sacred waterfall. It very well could have been, but the Internet is divided, and it didn’t quite look like the waterfall in the scene.

Taupo – our next overnight stop – had a beautiful lake and a picturesque river and a really excellent Chinese restaurant, but I was way more interested in the fact that it has the cheapest skydiving in NZ. I’d never really thought about skydiving before, but I was all about it as soon as I got there. It could be in part because NZ is an “adventure” destination, and there was no way I’d go bungy jumping – in short, because if the cord rips, you could just end up maimed for life whereas if your parachute fails, you’re likely dead. I’d rather die than be maimed for life?

Unfortunately, the weather was rainy and cloudy, and they weren’t allowing anyone up. I was determined not to let that ruin my dreams of skydiving though.

From Taupo, we headed into the National Park, by way of Waitomo Caves. If you’ve never heard of them, they’re famous for glowworms. There was a darling general store and not much else in the town, but that didn’t really matter because we were only there for the caves. You could spend an extra 20 NZD to go on a boat ride through the caves, but the basic tour we all did was enough. I saw glowworms hanging from the ceiling, stalactites and stalagmites, and cassowary bones.

mud pools

entering the cave

they’re so dangly!

I even learned how to use my camera, as one of the girls from the bus was incredibly kind enough to give me a short tutorial on it and then take it completely to set the right manual conditions for the near pitch-black darkness. Unfortunately, everyone else kept using their flashes to try to take pictures of the glowworms, and hardly any of my pictures came out.

government building

When we got the National Park, it was still cold, wet, and miserable, so I made my dinner, forewent the walk around where there was still a ski resort open as I favored not getting completely soaked and I didn’t have a proper coat, and went to bed early. It was supposed to snow. I had no desire to actually see snow in September. (I might also have realized there was only two weeks until I was back home after nearly six months and therefore been a tad bit homesick.)

The drive to Wellington was a quick one, which was nice; Wellington’s a vibrant city, even if its architecture leaves something to be desired. It was absolutely freezing, so I spent the afternoon in the Museum of New Zealand. They had some really brilliant, interactive exhibits about colonizing a new planet and contemporary Maori art… and a colossal squid, the only complete colossal squid on display. Now that was cool!

It started hailing on my way to find dinner. The weather on the North Island was seriously the worst. Cold, wet, miserably, rainy, etc. We had about two hours of sun the entire four-day tour.

Then the crossing from the North to the South island the next day was literally the most harrowing boat ride I’ve ever been on. The older people taking pictures out dirty window with fancy cameras were hilarious, but there were times when the ferry was literally at a 45-degree angle with the sea and other times when the entire front as far as I could see was underwater. I mean, I’d always wanted to see the sea life in the Cook Strait, so it’s all good?

Next month, I get off the ferry in Picton – clearly, a very long ferry ride – and journey around the South Island. There aren’t any more pictures on my blog, but there are some more right now! Random pictures:

blurp

stalactites

bones

coming out of the cave

NZ soda, surprisingly good

Huka Falls, right outside of Taupo

Taupo

Waikato River

Wellington/Cook Strait

Wellington

Letters Galore by Jim McKeown

Way back in 1976, someone, whom I have long ago forgotten, gave me a copy of The Letters of William Faulkner.  I never read any such collection, and I could not imagine it would be worth my time.  The friend asked me if I had read the book, but I pleaded too much work, too many things to read, but I would get to it.  After the third request, I decided to spend a rainy weekend with Faulkner.  I was completely surprised at how interesting the letters were.  In one exchange, Faulkner wrote to his agent and his publisher begging for an advance because his electricity was about to be shut off.  Exchanges with other writers became more and more frequent as time passed.  He wrote to Ernest Hemingway begging forgiveness for an error he had missed in a manuscript.

I began collecting these (usually massive) books, and today I have nearly 100 books of letters of authors and other important historical figures.  Letters by Jane Austen, John Cheever, Anton Chekhov, George Eliot, Dostoevsky, Robert Frost, Thackeray, Iris Murdoch, Boris Pasternak, J.R.R. Tolkien, Mark Twain, and F. Scott Fitzgerald are the more notable writers I have.  I also have letters of Mozart, Queen Elizabeth I, Sigmund Freud, and a few others in this category.

These are endlessly interesting, but my favorite letters in these collections include those that one author writes to another while discussing literature.  Last week I struck a vein of pure gold. The New York Times reviewed a newly published collection of Paul Auster and J.M. Coetzee.

I recently discovered Auster, and am working my way through his novels and memoirs.  I have been reading Coetzee for a few years, and really like him as well.

The thing that draws me to these collections are the open, honest, and direct words from an author about his or her life and work. To see well-known writers pleading for money, or apologizing for some slip up, or personal correspondence between the writer and his or her family and friends, all shed a brilliant light on the real person behind covers of a novel or poetry or plays.

I haven’t read the Auster/Coetzee collection yet, but I know I am in for a pretty entertaining afternoon.  If you have a favorite author, try and find a collection of their letters, I am willing to bet you will be much surprised.

Dancing Bear Pub Promotes Local Craft Brews

Waco school sees and universities aren’t the only places in town hoping to educate people.

The Dancing Bear Pub on Speight Avenue believes a trip to the pub should be an opportunity to learn about beer. The local pub keeps a rotating tap list with an emphasis on Texas beers, keeping around ten at any given time.

The Dancing Bear has the feel of an old fashioned meeting place where many of the people know each other and sit together at long wooden tables outside engaging in conversations while smoking on the patio. Each bartender has a trademark beard and is always ready to help each patron decide what they might like and give the occasional sample, customizing each customer’s order to fit their palate. To Paxton Dove, the publican, the Dancing Bear Pub operates out of the philosophy that “it doesn’t really matter if I like your beer; it only matters if you do. The best beer in the world is the one you like right now.”

Dove said, “We opened the Dancing Bear with the concept of an educational bar, a place where the bartenders explain to patrons what they are drinking, and why it tastes the way it does. It just becomes a bit more difficult to have a dialogue when it gets late and it is loud and busy.”

Dove believes in having a knowledgeable staff that can talk with customers because, he says, what they are serving is more than just a libation: “You need to know why someone was willing to put their house in jeopardy to make this beer. It is their product that they have tweaked and tweaked until it tastes exactly how they want it.” There is, Dove says, a story behind every brewery and every style of beer.

The Dancing Bear has a passion for craft beer and making it accessible in Waco. Paxton says he often spends six hours a day on the phone with distributors and breweries. This work is essential to get new and rare beers to Waco. Dove says this is what makes the business thrive. “The work is for everyone, so we all have something we don’t have to drive to Austin or Dallas to get. I like the playing field to be leveled, but we are a small market. I don’t want to get left out because I live in Waco; I don’t want anyone here to get left out. I like Waco, and I wouldn’t want someone leaving because there isn’t good beer. “

The Dancing Bear tries to offer unique opportunities to taste a variety of beers by things like serving in half pints and absorbing the cost of some of the more expensive beers in other places. One way to offer unique opportunities is their weekly Brewery Glass Night Give Away. Every Thursday they feature a different brewer with at least four different styles of their beer. In conjunction, a pint glass of the featured beer is given away until the glasses run out. Seeder Shak from the Waco Farmer’s Market serves food which has featured everything from chicken and waffles to smoked lamb. “We want to give you a reason to go out on Thursday and not have to go to a shot bar,” Dove says.

This tension between large and small markets led Dove to reason if you combine enough small markets you start to become a large market. From this idea came the Texas Tavern League. “[It’s about] the opportunity to link up with other bars that are working to do similar types of things, added buying power and the added benefit of promoting each other’s establishments.”

There are chains of bars out there like World of Beer, Flying Saucer, and the Ginger Man who have a lot of buying power and a huge selection. This partnership will give fans of the Dancing Bear the knowledge of what local bar might be in another Texas city when they travel. The Texas Tavern League is an answer to larger corporations and a way to keep these local pubs competitive. Some of the ways they have leveraged their collective force is through contacting breweries and committing to purchasing a unique beer before it has been brewed.  The main goal of the group is to work together to expand awareness of craft beer. Dove sees another use for the Texas Tavern League: working to improve Texas laws legislating the production and sale of craft beer in state, which would inevitably increase the number of breweries in Texas. The Texas Tavern League can also work together to interpret the laws that are in place to use innovative means to bring more beer to Texas. There are opportunities to join the Texas Tavern League as a patron of Texas pubs for $25, which includes a t-shirt, an opportunity to attend a beer camp, special tapings, and early admission to events the league holds.

One special upcoming event at The Dancing Bear is the fourth annual Texas Craft Beer Festival on April 27^th from 1pm-6pm.  It will feature over 20 Texas breweries and over 40 beers. Cellar Door and Loafers will be performing during the evening. Tickets cost $35 in advance and there will be a limited number available. Each ticket comes with a 5 ounce tasting glass to keep with a two ounce pour line and a punch card for 16 samples from any of the brewers present. It’s just this sort of event which shows what Dove and the Dancing Bear are about: “Beer is a food product that is made to be drunk fresh. These guys are pouring their lives into these breweries, and buying and promoting local breweries eventually turns into them making better beer. Most of the breweries are making stuff that is just as good as anywhere else. There are Texas breweries on a national level and others who are still working through a lack of cash to get to that level. It is important to support your local dairy, cheese, and your local brewer.” You can buy your ticket here.

 

Spring Break: Traveling with three kids, one spouse and a little pug

West Texas

Spring Break!! Whoohoo! You’re traveling right? You are a Bohemian after all!!

Roswell, NM

Me? What am I doing, you ask? Traveling to Ruidoso NM with my partner in parenting, one pug dog and three kids: one from Ethiopia who has never seen snow and can’t stop talking about it. Literally, she has been talking for 8.5 hours of our 9-hour drive about snow. She’s going to eat it, catch it on her tongue, roll in it, build a snowman, wait no, build a snow family!! She’s going to roll in it again, color it with food coloring, scoop it up, put it in her pants, build a fort, make a snow angel, throw a million snow balls and much more.

Trains and Windmills

The last two hours of snow talk aside, I love road trips! West Texas and eastern New Mexico are fascinating places to me that time and forward progress have forgotten. I have no cell phone service and when I do there’s a little “o” on my iphone in place of a 4G. I can’t check Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. I’m forced to look out of the window and outside of myself in these spaces. I typically keep a little journal and jot down all the random and weird things I see or great moments my kids bring to the table. This isn’t an epic journey or an expensive one, but it’s a tradition for me. For most of 20 years I have been driving from Texas to New Mexico once or twice a year. I love watching the landscape change from the rolling green hills to the scrub trees then to the flat farmlands. These seem to stretch on forever and they are beautiful endless and vast. They make the world feel big again and they make me feel small and inconsequential in that world, and I like that.

Into the Mountains

This trip proved difficult due to the extreme winds and the dust storms were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Walls of red dust would rise miles ahead and as we came upon them they would envelope the car like a fog. A few miles down the road the horizon would clear and we would emerge from what felt like an alternate world. Then again the red haze would materialize on the horizon and we would seemingly disappear. Occasionally raindrops would pelt the windshield leaving fabulous red polka dots across the clear surface. Between storms, in no man’s land, we pulled over at a deserted rest stop. There were no trees or grass but there were ten picnic tables situated under individual metal awnings spread across a bald white acre. The only break in the landscape was the asphalt fixings piled high for the road crews. The kids went straight for the pile, climbing up, the cold air whipping their hair and plastering their clothes to their backsides. Atop the small man made hill they stood, arms spread, face to the wind, cackling with laughter, as the horizon loomed red and hazy. Returning to the car and continuing our journey the irrigation systems and monumental windmills gave way to rocks and again rolling hills and I know I’m close to the mountains. This is when the mesas begin: First one, standing alone, sad and worn. Then two together stronger and straighter then suddenly the horizon is packed with enormous flat-topped mountains. I wonder how long they’ve been on this earth and what they’ve witnessed in their time as the wind and water have eroded their peaks. I wonder how long they’ll be here. Those thoughts fade as the peaks of the Southern Rockies come into view. Through the wind and haze the first seems like a dream, unreal and unreachable. But the altitude rises and our ears pop and we are elevating. The peaks remain illusive, but more emerge from the cloudy sky and the roads begin to wind. We are in the valleys now, driving with the copper colored rocks stretching up the side of the car. As we gain altitude the temperature drops, the trees get taller and straighter and a light snow starts falling. The kids are thrilled! We arrive at our rental house and we will snow board and hike, but it’s the journey not the destination for me that makes this trip so important.

We found snow!

A Bohemian Who Loves Horses and Found A Positive Way to Overcome Bullies by April Henley

April Henley has work published in the July 2012 issue of Bohemia (Superheroes). It was her first publishing credit and it is a beautiful story. You can view the issue at http://www.bohemia-journal.com. She submitted this essay to us for consideration to be published on our blogs. This story is a personal account of how April overcame bullies through developing a love of horses. April lives in Central Texas and attends Baylor University.

There is something about a horse that is good for the human soul. To look at one is to look at one of God’s masterpieces. To watch them run across the pasture is to watch living art in motion. To ride atop of one is to feel reborn; you are alive again.

In my twelve years of working with horses, I have found a constant well of happiness and satisfaction that never runs dry. I love horses and everything they have to offer us. A horse has more to offer than a good ride; they offer their allegiance and a love that never fades. I have come to find that of any other animal, horses are closest to humans on an emotional level. They share feelings of excitement, playfulness, aggression, fear, and sadness with us. Also like us, they are social creatures. They do nothing alone and enjoy the comfort of one another’s presence. If a horse cannot socialize with one of its own, it will commonly grow an attachment to another animal – a dog, a cat, a goat (the racehorse Seabiscuit had a spider monkey) – or to a human. However, there are times when the human-horse relationship gets a little rough; horses have their bad days like us.

I cannot count how many times I have fallen, been thrown, or bucked out of the saddle. It’s scary the first few times, no matter how old you are, but if you call it quits just because you ate dirt, the horse wins. Every barn should quote John Wayne: “Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.” There’s always that one horse who is a bully; he’ll test you, push your buttons, and try to boss you around. The key thing to do when it’s just you and that horse is to never give in or give up.

There’s always that one horse; there’s always a bully in the herd; funny how the concept applies out of the pasture and on school grounds, I should know. I was a victim of bullying starting in the first grade till I was a junior in high school. You know what? Words do hurt, and actions break your spirit.

Cases of bullying today seem fouler than I remember; I hear stories from concerned parents on a frequent basis. Their kid dreads going to school and comes home with another bruise. The school only reprimands the bully responsible when he/she should be threatened with suspension or expulsion. The worst part of these stories is when the victim never finds a way out other than changing schools, becoming home-schooled or, regrettably, suicide. The sad truth is, kids who do not know how to deal with bullying call it quits on living, when those bullies are only there for a small fraction of their entire life. I got out, but not by calling it quits.

Horses got me out. In the fourth grade, a friend of mine invited me for a week of horse camp. I fell in love with it on day one and started taking weekly lessons. Imagine, if you will, a tiny girl working with a 1,500 pound animal; it’s kind of intimidating. However, when you really love something, you stick with it. When I experienced my first fall – the horse ran away with me when I was unprepared – I was told to get back in the saddle and not let that horse win. It was the first time I stood up to someone, even though that someone was a horse.
Riding and being around horses changed me. My grades got better in school and I did not feel lonely or depressed anymore – I had friends at the barn, girls my age who shared a love of horses. Most importantly, after dealing with a number of horses that gave me the boss challenge, I learned how to stand up to the bullies in school. To me, their smack was like a horse’s bite; it bruises, but it does not stay forever.

When I got my five-year old Thoroughbred, I learned a great deal about patience and courage. He has been the toughest horse to work with in my life, but I love him. He has his days where he decides he’ll challenge me and a lost temper will do no good to reprimand him. When he gets riled up, a calm manner and lack of fear on my part soothes him into a workable state. After six years together, we are partners; a horse and his girl, a girl and her horse.

I believe kids today can follow my lead and make it through their problems with bullies. Any extracurricular activity outside of school will help in ways of boosting their morale, helping them make friends, and giving them both an outer and inner strength. I was a victim of bullying too; working with horses made a difference. I found patience, courage, a sense of responsibility, and a bond with an animal that was worth living for. I can honestly say that there is something about a horse that does good work for a child’s heart and the human soul.

Bohemia Reads: Terror by Day or Night, a Duology from Robi Ley by Gary Lee Webb

Cover of Arrows by Day, courtesy of R. W. Ley

Imagine you are a single, female businesswoman, sitting quietly in a café, reading.  You are about to have a quiet bite to eat with your book, when a dashing gentleman sits down at your table, pretends to be your date showing up late, and accidentally makes you the target of his arch-enemy.  Crimes are committed, and the investigating detective also turns out to be interesting … and interested.

28 facts by Erica

These are supposed to be “deep thoughts,” so I’ll try to be as deep as possible. Here’s 28 facts about my life (in no particular order of importance):

1. This picture (see below) was taken when I was 18. It was for my 2nd cousin Stevie’s christening, and I was playing violin at the reception. This is not my violin I’m playing, it’s my Uncle Mike’s. I like this picture because it’s candid and because I look good in it. Most of the time I have a really sour face when I’m playing violin because I’m concentrating. Intensity=stinkeye face, apparently.

2. I can’t let go of mistakes I’ve made and I torture myself constantly with the idea that I could have done something differently.

3. I can’t sit still. My ADD has grown worse over the years, and results in me losing focus a lot.

4. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin.

New Life Goal: Be Lena Dunham by Whitney

I am broke. Let me re-phrase that. I am so broke that the last time that I ate something that wasn’t dollar pizza was in December. I have a B.A. from a decent university, and I’m working at Urban Outfitters. I live in New York City, and the most exciting thing I did all week was clean my apartment and spend forty-five minutes on the phone with Rashida from Con-Edison trying to make my electricity bill disappear.

Here are the facts: 53% of college graduates are underemployed. And I’m pretty sure that 99% of my friends are part of that 53%. Okay, that last statistic was fake, but you get the idea. I have friends with Masters degrees who are too old to be covered by their folks’ insurance, but not employable enough to be able to pay for their own. I have friends who accept odd jobs–like being baristas or dishwashers or stocking shelves at department stores–that are completely irrelevant to their actual life goals. One of my friends is actually working as a PA on one of those ghost hunter shows. And I bet if a demon possesses her, her parents’ insurance won’t even cover it.

Short Attention Span Adventures: Saint Mooch, by Meg

It’s been about five months now, and I’m still grieving for my cat, Mooch.  It’s reached a stage where when I’m particularly maudlin (or inebriated), I think about what a saint he was.  For a cat, that is.

So if he actually were to become a saint, what would that entail?

The ALICO Building, by Albert

Alico building, Waco, Texas

There are certain landmarks that tell you where you are, for example, when I woke up dark and early for my business meeting and headed out from my hotel and saw the Alico sign, I knew in that instant, I was back home. I was a little foggy that morning and did not have my morning coffee yet. I was dressed for the big meeting and had my laptop bag slung over my shoulder. I honestly could not tell you where I was at that moment, but when I came around the side of my hotel and looked up, there it was.

And The Road Winds Down: Australia, Part Three by Jessica

Fun fact cinco: Australia has the world’s weirdest-named creatures – echidna, wallaby, kangaroo, koalas, dingo, cassowary.

Fun fact seis: It also has some of the world’s deadliest creatures – of course, the great white shark, but also the box jellyfish, taipan snake, crocodile, blue ring octopus, stone fish, and a bunch of other snakes.

Keith dropped me off in Melbourne CBD bright and early Monday morning where I met up with “John,” who was the driver/guide for my bus tour to the Great Ocean Road and the Grampians  (Previously, I’d been to Sydney, Cairns, and Phillip Island).

Why a bus tour?

- I’d never done a bus tour before; I figured I should ease my way into it before embarking on the 12-day New Zealand one in about a week.

- It was an easy way to get to the GOR and Grampians.

- It was also the cheapest way I could find.

- While I prefer to travel at my own pace, I also like to learn about where I am and where I’m going. Can’t read a guidebook whilst driving.

- I would be traveling solo but yet with other people. Best of both worlds?

And I knew we were off to a good start when during the first roll call, two people turned out to be on the wrong tour bus.

Loafers: Landlocked Surfer Rock by Caleb

Would it be surprising if a band could connect every member of the group around pizza? Maybe not if the band was named Loafers. Loafers all have a connection to the Domino’s Pizza in Hewitt, where they all have put in time. They even met there. A perfect example of how the pizza place became Loafers’ version of a local mead hall is in how one of the band members, Hobbs, joined the band. While coming in to pick up a pizza the other guys asked if he played music. Their reason was because he was such dapper guy, with an interesting flair and an epic sunglasses that somehow spoke to them. As Eric Vaughn Eisenman guitarist says, “We brought Hobbs on because he looked like an awesome son of a bitch.”

A Few Classic Amazing Fantastic Comedy Films from Russia by Courtney

One day I was curious as to what kind of entertainment I could find from somewhere besides the normal modes of media we are all spoon fed each day here in America.  So I decided to pick my friend from Russia’s brain for some good old fashioned soviet entertainment.  What he showed me was amazing.  I was introduced to the quintessential Monty Python of Russia.  There is a set of movies done by Director Leonid Gaidai in Russia that all involve similar characters and actors in slap-stick comedies.  The most famous of his movies was “Ivan Vasilievich: Back to the Future” which was filmed back in 1973.  Its about a scientist who created a time machine that takes him back to the reign of Ivan the Terrible, a Russian czar from the 1500′s.  The funniest part of the movie to me is in the first 5 seconds of the film. See for yourself:

Is Valentine’s Day a Holiday that Celebrates True Passion? by Katie

I feel compelled to write about Valentine’s Day since this post is appearing on February 14th, but I really hate Valentine’s Day. I always have. I have no affinity for it, no interest in it, and quite frankly I’m annoyed by the whole day. (Yes, my husband loves me a little more for this.) I am not cynical and I do like romance, but Valentine’s Day feels too contrived. I particularly dislike the commercialism of the day and after noticing several horrid commercials about expressing true love by way of flowers, chocolates, and cards — I noticed that passion was a word thrown around fairly frequently. I think of passion as an intense, heavy word and I found myself increasingly irritated with its use in the flippant commercials. Therefore I decided to look it up on Wikipedia; their definition follows:  Passion (from the Ancient Greek verb (paskho) meaning to suffer) is a term applied to a very strong feeling about a person or thing. Passion is an intense emotion, compelling feeling, enthusiasm, or desire for something. It is particularly used in the context of romance or sexual desire, though it generally implies a deeper or more encompassing emotion than that implied by the term lust.

3 Insights from Global Living by Mandy B.

I’ve lived in Waco, and I’ve lived in Germany. I’ve lived in Colorado and in Nashville and in Scotland. I’ve been in public school and private school and school in a language other than English. I’ve lived in places where I was the most liberal person I knew and places where I was the most conservative person I knew.

If I could invite a smattering of people from different stages in my life to a dinner party, it would be movie material, a perfect storm of cultures and backgrounds and opinions. But wherever I’ve lived, people are still people. Here are some things that hold true no matter where you live.

Motel Ambience

The old motel

with it’s teal doors to paradise

it’s walls cracked white paint of forever

it’s staircase that nobody ever figures out who comes and goes

the clamor of maidspeak

and I think about groggy bedheaded breakfasts and the sunrise over pool

toast, eggs, orange juice, terrible whir of politics on the lobby television

and I have been here in every city and in every time

I have seen all of these pools.

The Top 5 Things I’ve Learned from Gwen Stefani by Whitney

Today at work, I was flipping through a copy of Nylon magazine while waiting for the guy from IT to come replace the toner in the 8^th floor copy machine. I was pleasantly surprised to see Gwen Stefani—ska princess, mommy of two, and lifestyle guru—staring back at me, her Marilyn Monroe-hued hair glowing against the already glossy pages of the style section. Then, I took a good hard look at myself in the reflective surface of the microwave in the copy room. I replayed the lyrics of No Doubt’s “Staring Contest” in my brain a few times. (Such a cute girl/I’m so jealous/I wish I looked exactly like her./What’s it like to have that body?/I’m gawking while I wonder.) And it got me thinking: What makes Gwen Stefani so freaking cool?

The Top 5 Things I’ve Learned From Gwen Stefani

Dear Waco by Whitney

Dear Waco,

 

When we first met, I hated you. You were dripping wet, soggy, disgusting, a pathetic little excuse of a town. You were littered with strip clubs, tattoo parlors, and taco stands. I didn’t know what to make of you. I hated your flat, dusty landscape and your humid August skies. I hated your hailstones, your bicycle lanes, and your greasy fast food joints. I still don’t understand how most of you is still in business, what with the endless stretch of parking lots and high-rise garages that blanket the downtown area.

But I have to admit that when we met, I was in love with someone else. I had been in love with her for years, you understand, and it was nearly impossible for me to let go. And based on first impressions alone, she was winning. Los Angeles wore her midnight blue, sparkling evening gown and welcomed my red-eye flight home. She was dangerous and dirty, but she challenged me and helped me grow. She was everything I needed until I met you.

Bohemia Reads: Fantasy Flies High – Martha Wells’ the Raksura Trilogy … by Gary Lee

I always enjoy reading the works of Martha Wells — she is a compleat author – but the trio of books she recently released are an especial treat.

Author Martha Wells reading from her new opus.  (Photo by Gary Lee Webb)

It is rare in the fantasy genre to see a story which does not involve elves and dwarves,  “little folk” (leprecauns, fairies, domovoi, or gnomes/kobolds),  interesting spirits (kitsune, daemons, jinni or efreet, or guide spirits), or talking animals.  Yet Martha has none of that in her novels:  she has created a world populated by a large variety of sentient species, many of which are humanoid, but not all  (the Dwei could be described as large, sentient insects, for example;  however, my guess is that glosses over many details which would belie the description).  In particular, the most dominant race has members who can shift from groundling (i.e., humanoid) form to a scaled flying form with wings, arms and legs, and a balancing tail.  These dragonesque humanoids are the Raksura, and it is a young Raksura, Moon, whom the reader follows through the three novels.

Urban Renewal in Waco: The House on the Corner by Erica

I have an obsession with the house on the corner.

The house on the corner sits at 17th and Homan, and I pass it every time I drive on Bosque to go to Cameron Park. It’s been abandoned for what looks like quite a few years. It’s a simple, one story white Victorian home with light blue trim on the door.  There’s a long wrap-around porch that seems to beg for a rocking chair and iced tea glasses. It must be over 100 years old. It has sat there quietly at the corner while cars pass it endlessly, all day long. I feel sorry for it, being such a pretty house in a pretty run down part of town.

Local Natives by Meagan Smith

The new Local Natives new album, Hummingbird, dropped on the 29th of this month!

My friends, I don’t speak lightly when I say that this album is a must have. Hummingbird shows its diversity within LN’s genre. That’s what I love about this band. The songs sound so different from the last. Almost like they could have been from different albums, all gathered on one. And finally three years later, there is a second album to feast your ears upon. This album really showed me, personally, that they’re not just another indie band that sticks to the rule book. Their use of different piano progressions and chords, ridiculously skilled guitarists, and their catchy use of heavy tribal percussion shows exactly that.

Local Natives is an indie rock band right out of Silver Lake, a smaller area within LA. Most of the guys in the band attended high school together and after a year of college, moved in together and began writing for their debut.

The debut, Gorilla Manor, was released through Frenchkiss Records in 2010. Through Frenchkiss you can also find amazing bands such as The Dodos, Bloc Party, Passion Pit, and The Plastic Constellations. Not to forget, Gorilla Manor features Local Natives own spin on TALKING HEADS’ Warning Sign. ITS BRILLIANT.

Right now, they’ve got Hummingbird for sale on their website. CLICK HERE

They’ve got some nifty bundles up for grabs right now. Each bundle has different items at a different price! My personal favorite bundle includes buttons, a t-shirt, 12″ Deluxe or standard versions (including digi-download), and an autographed lithograph. Other bundles priced lower, but include less goodies!

Whether or not you buy anything from this band, at least give them a listen! You can find their tracks on iTunes, Youtube, and just about any other music streaming site.

Also a quick recommendation, their NPR session on YouTube. It features three songs off of Gorilla Manor played acoustic. It’s simply chilling. You can see the passion radiating off their bodies when they play.

I would recommend this band for anyone. They’re easy to fall in love with. I picked up their album two summers ago at a record shop in LA and I’ve been hooked since. I hope they hook you too.

A Reading Project Update by Jim McKeown

I finally completed the “Reading Project” I mentioned in a post back on September 19, 2012.  In that post, I described a book my wife gave me as a present.  Christopher Hitchens collected 107 of his most recent essays, reviews, opinion pieces, and blog posts, for a mammoth collection of ideas from this erudite writer, whose every word drips with genius.  As I said then – and as I will repeat – I do not always agree with Hitchens, but I love his use of the English language, and I greedily devour everything of his that comes to my attention.

Kangaroos, Koalas, and Cows, Oh My: Australia, Part Two by Jessica

Fun fact tres: Because Australia is in the southern hemisphere, your notions of up and down in relation to weather are wrong, i.e., the north is warm, and the south is cold. Florida is Maine, and Maine is Louisiana. This is confusing.

Fun fact quatro: Antarctica is the only thing south of most of Australia.

Previously, I’d gotten to Australia via England and spent a couple days in Sydney and about a week in Cairns. So there I was, basking in the warm sun in Cairns, enjoying the tropical breezes, getting soaked in a rainforest, eating ice cream every day, and really excited about going to see a friend of mine who lives in Melbourne. I spent my last night in Cairns extravagantly: I got the pizza at the Woolshed.

And then it was off to the airport, where I had Burger King, [but it’s not actually Burger King; it’s Hungry Jack’s because originally they couldn’t have the name Burger King (already in use by another chain) in Australia, so they renamed it Hungry Jack’s. Then years later, BK decided it was sick of having Hungry Jack’s in Australia, so they tried to also bring in Burger King franchises. Now there’s both. But they’re the exact same thing? I don’t understand mega-corporations.]

The second the plane landed in Melbourne (which I was on before that tangent about BK), I had a cold.

It’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever experienced: I was completely fine in Cairns and the entire flight to Melbourne, but the second the wheels touched down, I was sick as a dog. I struggled through getting my bags, getting into Melbourne (SkyRail’s a deal: $20 for roundtrip to and from Melbourne CBD), and then finding the right local train my friend had told me to use.

Risk and Reward by Katie

I must start with a confession: I am terrified of putting my artwork and writing out into the world. I am petrified to exhibit, to blog, to publish or even to allow people to read my works privately. I always have been. While my artwork may have had some significant meaning, when asked I will usually shrug and say, “Oh, it doesn’t mean anything, not all art has meaning. It’s just pretty.” Until recently I had never even told anyone that I wrote, but I’ve been writing stories since elementary school and I’ve been writing novels since junior high (I’m 33 years old). No one has ever read them. I’ve never allowed anyone to read them. At this point in my life that is somewhat frustrating, but I am the only one to blame!

“So why am I writing a blog?” You ask.

Picking the Hugos by Gary Lee

The Hugo committee wants all blogs about the Hugos to use this image.

Do you enjoy annual awards shows? Do you care who got the Emmys, the Tonys, and other such awards? Would you like to be one of the people who chooses the nominees or one of the people who votes for the winners?

In the genres of Science Fiction and Fantasy, the annual awards are called “the Hugos,” and you can easily be one of the people who nominates and/or votes on who receives the award for the best movie, the best novel, the best short story, the best art, and the best (professional, semi-pro, or fan) magazine. In fact, there are 16 Hugo categories, including the intermediate sizes of work, the best editors, and the best new authors of the year.

Gretchen Enters the Family by Jim McKeown

Our family had a new addition this week.  Joining Marcy, our wonderful Lab and a published writer in Bohemia (see issue Number one from July, 2011), Panguir Ban the giant cat and the true “King of the Household,” and Zoe, a purring machine which wakes me at all hours.  Gretchen is a six-week old little girl, who really has a mind of her own.  So far, she responds to her name, sort of comes when I call her, loves to climb like a monkey, eat grass like a cow, and already barks at her big sister, Marcy, who weighs about 5-6 times as much!

Short Attention Span Adventures: A Late Afternoon Stroll Among the Gravestones, by Meg

I know I’m not the only one.  Sometimes I like to take a walk through a cemetery.

The first time, it was to take a closer look at some of the monuments.  I expected to leave with lofty meditations on the nature of life and death, but it didn’t happen.  My mind just doesn’t work that way.  Instead, I focus on the pragmatic.

Brunch in Colorado by Mandy B.

Over New Year’s, I was fortunate enough to be able to travel back to Colorado, where I lived before Waco. Despite having a poor Mexican food selection, Colorado is a great place for foodies, and one of my favourite things to do is to circle back to my old eateries that I used to frequent there.

This visit, I was re-awakened through two new restaurants to one of the meals Colorado does best — brunch.

Bohemian Anticipation by Albert

Well friends, we are halfway into January and the weather has gotten much colder. I have my first vacation already scheduled and the anticipation is driving me nuts, that means cabin fever has officially set in. I have a need for some sunshine and a boat ride across the bay.

If you have read my previous blogs you’ll recall that I am in love with the Texas coastline, especially around the Rockport and Port Aransas area. I can’t stop thinking about it! I’m listening to more songs about the ocean and my Jimmy Buffet playlist is starting to complain about being played too much.

The Cameron Park Zoo by Gary Lee Webb

One of the great treasures of Waco is the Cameron Park Zoo.  As my  readers know, I am blessed with a 20-month-old grandson, John Railroad Webb Wissinger, and he loves to make tracks.  The zoo is an excellent place for him to do so.  We went this past weekend and we went last month, and he had a blast, cold notwithstanding. 

Please note that all photographs are mine.