Two-Bit Musings.

Yes Yes Yes.

Snap’s unleashed the music box.

. . .

The coffee is hot, with the atypical treat of flavored cream. I warm my hands on the ceramic mug.

Alexa sits upon her shelf, sharing a mix of musical moments: Moments that make me smile, and that remind me of the mysterious beauty of college life.

Friends. Books. Bliss.

Savoring it all.

Röyksopp, yo. A new love.*

. . .

In my worst moments I feel like a fuzzy little growth on the rotten milk jug of society.

And in my best?

I’m dancing, singing, and feeling the beat within every ounce of my 5-foot frame.

I feel like a good friend; a good daughter and sister; a good wife; a good mother; a good artist. A good teacher.

A good person.

Yes.

Because that’s really all I want. To be good.** A good cog in this sometimes cold, sometimes terrible, relentless machine of life.

. . .

I have the blessed curse of an artist’s life.

The colors; the swirls; the tingle on my lips; the dreams; the nightmares; the folded papers; the seashell sounds; the eyeliner revelations.

This world. . . is a giant coloring book.

It’s a tidy little sketchpad with textured pages.

It’s waiting for icing. It’s waiting for delightful little ribbons. For clusters of balloons and glass jars full of candies.

It’s waiting.

So what are we waiting for . . . ?

Let’s dance.

Together. I promise it will be nothing shy of extraordinary.

. . .

SnapDragon is a writer, currently working on everything and nothing.

Follow Snippets of SnapDragon for tidbits of her strawberry-flavored journey.

. . .

*Dude. Check it out. I stumbled upon them on an “Instrumental Chill” playlist. And now I’m obsessed.

**Yep. East of Eden. Please read this book, at least once in your life. I have so many books on my reading list, and yet I might just dive back into this one. What a gem.

The Perfect Time to Say Hello.

The Perfect Time to Say Hello.

(smiles and waves emphatically)

Hello, 2017. Philadelphia. Original Photo by SnapDragon X.

Hello, Dear Reader. It’s nice to see you again.

I like to envision you reading this, in some parallel yet delightfully different state of being.

Perhaps you’re on lunch, with your tuna sandwich and iced tea before you. Or maybe you’re in The Waiting Room, and the thought of flipping through the tired magazine offerings has brought you here instead.

Regardless, here we are. You and I.

. . .

It’s Monday, my favorite day of the week.

It’s fresh, it’s crisp. It makes me want to open a brand new notebook and write down the many thoughts inside my head.

Because I am different today, and so are you.

There is only this moment. This delicate whisper of existence will soon expire to the graveyard of memory.

So here I am!

It’s the perfect time to say hello. It’s the perfect time to let it out.

(Join me if you wish.)

. . .

  1. Game. of. Thrones. I just. . . can’t. I can’t even articulate how much I love this show. I know it’s all anyone talks about, but it’s a work of art. It has proven to me, once again, that the power of fiction is everlasting. Do whatever you need to watch it, from the beginning, without researching fan theories or spoilers. Let it speak.
  2. I’m My Own BFF. Okay, so that’s not really true. The Sweet Husband is my best friend. I also have a small cluster of women who are fucking awesome and who I wish lived closer so we could talk and drink and “discuss all the vast intricacies of life.” (That’s a Paul McCartney lyric, by the way.) Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I’m trying to cut myself a break. I’ve read that you’re supposed to treat yourself as you would a friend. Show support. Forgive. Be understanding that Shit Happens. So why do I think I’m somehow not qualified for these affections? I power through a migraine because taking two Tylenol and lying down shows weakness. This is ludicrous thinking. Take a break, Snap. Treat your body and mind with the respect it deserves.
  3. Simple Pleasures. They are everywhere, love. We merely have to take time to see them: Morning sun; floral sheets; funky coffee mugs; listening to an album in its entirety; seasonal foods; handwritten letters; deciding which earrings to wear; bar soap; seeing new sprouts in the garden; Henry and Raj sharing a snack; happy hour; inscriptions found in old books; holding hands; family recipes; a haircut; knick-knacks; a favorite pen. We all have to go through this life, and I aim to do so while having fun. So damn it, I’m going to spend the money, eat the artisanal food, and pick the cute one. Because really. . . why would you not pick the cute one?

So if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to move along. The day is waning fast, and there’s a lot to do.

But I’ll wait until this song is over first.

Sing Out.

Sing Out.

I love to sing.

So, so much.

Yet I was extremely bashful about doing so for the first–oh–seventeen years of my life or so.

I still get self-conscious if I know people are listening; if I’m put on the spot I usually clam up and my voice sounds smaller somehow, slightly pinched. I sound my very best when I’m alone, singing the harmony on the top of my lungs, letting the notes ring out like bells.

I think I sound good.

Moment of Bliss, 2017. Hudson Valley Brewing, NY.
Original Photo by SnapDragon X’s Sweet Husband. All rights reserved.

I suppose I can say the same for my writing; it’s in me, dying to get out.

Stephen King says that writing is a form of telepathy, with its ability to transport thoughts, images, and ideas to another person without so much as moving our lips.

It’s a kind of magic, really.

I have always tried to pay attention to detail in my work. Even if it’s only on this blog, which may go unnoticed and unread, to be buried in the depths of the interwebs, I want it to be right.

So I read it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Is this what I mean to say? Is it completely whole? On-point? Worthy of being read?

Just as I sing out–sometimes sounding shaky and small–once it’s out of me, it’s out of my control.

And this scares the shit out of me.

Because as I’ve told you before, I am terrified of being misunderstood.

But I also recognize a writer’s responsibility: to think, draft, reflect, and experiment until the message is ready.

Leave it in the oven, then let it cool, but go ahead and give it a slice and serve.

Because no one hears the songs that remain in your head.