I’m not a fan of “about me” pages; it seems that everything either comes across as deliberately self-deprecating or as a trite cliche, trying to be glib or witty. So, what do you need to know?
My name is April, and I write things. Sometimes I write things that are kind of boring, unless you’re looking for that specific information, and then I try to make it sound as un-boring as possible. (I’m allowed to say “un-boring;” it’s called artistic license, or something like that.) I have to write those things because the electric company won’t take my warped genius thoughts as payment, and it’s cold outside these days.
Sometimes I write things that make people feel. A lot of the time, the things I write make people cry. I always apologize for that, and people always say, “No, they were good tears.” But still, I’m sorry anyway. The things I write that make people feel are the easiest to write and the hardest to share; each one is giving away a part of myself that was, until then, all my own. The things I write are often angry, written out of some intense desire to be heard by someone, if only myself. They are often harsh and sharp-edged, laced with words that should cost me a quarter in the cuss jar, shot through with the kind of uncomfortably honest rage that, if heard in public, would make you stare at your shoes as you hurried by, glancing over just once to make sure no one was getting hurt, grateful that you didn’t have to get involved. Sometimes the things I write are things you might overhear when walking under someone’s bedroom window: quiet, sweet things, not meant to be overheard, but there’s no harm in listening in for a minute if it reminds you that there’s love in the world. Sometimes the things I write are silly, penned for the little girl at my knee or the little boy running past me on his way to the refrigerator, tossing a reminder over his shoulder that I never wrote that story I said I would, a long time ago. Sometimes the things I write don’t make sense, even to me. Most of the time I forget them as soon as they’re written down. To pass along a cliche that should have been thrown out ages ago, writing is cathartic. It keeps me from losing any more of my mind, and helps me to speak when my voice has been shattered.
That’s all there is to say about my words, I think. My first book, a collection of poems titled Between the Stars, was published in January 2010, and is available at local bookstores or online through indiebound.com, amazon, barnes and noble, and itunes. My second book, Object Permanence, was published in April 2012, and is available through the same venues.
In addition to my words, I share my life with the most creative, interesting, intelligent and hilarious children in the world; a brilliant, tattooed musician with the uncanny ability to understand my twisted mind and make me believe in things that I can’t see; a patchwork quilt of friends and family who never let me fall completely apart; and a cranky orange cat who insists it’s polite to leave dead moles on the porch.
I think I’m done talking now.
Questions? Ask. Comments? Bring them on. Criticism? Be gentle, please.
Have a beautiful day.