Confessions of an Internet Pirate

Ok I’ll admit it. There’s times I’ve illegally shared (who doesn’t love CD burning parties) other people’s work for various reasons (like it’s really REALLY hard to find a copy KISS meets the Phantom of the Park)kiss party!. Oh I knew it was wrong, but its just so easy to justify. (Hey I spend 100 on concert tickets, I can burn my friends cd right…..) Of course like all good pirates, I had boundaries. No stealing from indy or upcoming artists………

I say all of this to admit that on this topic I am a sinner.
Still, after a few conversations I’ve had with a few of the 101 Composition classes I’ve visited over the past semester, I’m shocked at the over all consensus on copyright law: copy right laws should not exist. If someone can steal work and make money off of them, the better for it….and well, hey you should just make more work to sell.

I was honest with the class. Telling them about my past, why I did what I did, why it was wrong but why I did it, etc….

No response.

I tried having them imagine that they were inventors and artist who had their work stolen….

No response.

What about indy artist…….

No response.

After hours of discussion, the consensus remained the same.

I’m not naive. I know (as Rand Paul) illustrates that there are certain people that don’t respect the idea of copyright laws, but I was still surprised to find so many people feel that the American way is stealing and that artist who have things stolen are just out of luck, should just stop whining and go out and make new work.

Thoughts?

Any ideas how to impart the grain of discourse?

 

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My best friend is an awesome artist (that you should watch)

I was lucky. By the time I was 18, I had a core group of friends with whom I’m still friends with today. Amongst them was Ashy, a painter who shared my love of rock and dreams of being an artist.  Over the years we have had a ridiculous amount of fun, planning pointlessly schemes (like moving out to l.a. and living off of contentential breakfast) and going to way too many rock concerts.

ashy_i_paintedart_ashyandidressed upme_ashy

Besides our clear shared  awesomeness (pics don’t lie right?) and our shared love of 80’s hair metal, we  both share our dreams of being  working artists. It has been so helpful to have someone else experience the sames highs and lows of art as I have.  And now that we have put in YEARS and YEARS of work, we are both finally starting to see the payoffs of our labors.

She just (yes i’m gushing!) got into a pretty sweet art show. Unforunately, as she lives in Buffalo and the show is there, I won’t be able to go. So I’m sending some virtual love, and telling all my readers to check out her work at her website Yellow Blazer’s Studios.  And if you happen to be in the Buffalo area check out her work, you won’t regret it!

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First publication of the new year

Good afternoon, Rachael!
 
I wanted to drop a quick note to you with good news!  Your monologue “The New Girl” has confirmed entry into Volume III of ‘interJACtions: Monologues from the Heart of Human Nature.’  Congratulations!
This greeted me in my inbox today!
jump

I was very excited to have this monologue published. It was originally a short story which I wrote during an exercise at University of Indiana.  It’s a dramatized piece about my experience of switching from a private Lutheran school (15 people in my class, all girls) to a public school.

Hopefully this year will continue to be a productive year for publishing (both indie and traditionally) for me!

Anyway, sorry for the brevity of this post, but I wanted to share the good news!

Two very cool sites you should visit today……

I’ve been surfing the web and found a couple of really fun websites. The first is called Brain Pickings. It has a lot of cool articles, a lot word nerd related articles,  including one for vintage ads for libraries.  Here are two of my favorites:

vintagereading6vintagereading7

If you like what you see and want some for your own home library, check out ebay and amazon. They have some great deals!

My second find of the day is a little start-up literature journal. It’s run by a friend of a co-worker of mine at the writing lab. The journal, unlike a lot of other journals, seems very unpretentious and open to all kinds of writing. They are also looking for submissions for their next issue. (I’ll add it to my submissions page shortly.)

Insecurities

Insecurities are probably just a given with the artistic life. It’s hard not to take it personally when you poor hours and sweat into a piece just to have someone hate it.  And even though you know a lot of times, its just a preferences it’s hard to carry on.

And that’s where I find myself sitting, on the cliff of fear and insecurity.

insecrutities I have one project done, an anthology of plays. I just have to add my author’s bio and click publish on the nook press. But I linger. Realistically, I don’t expect it to be a best seller. But, as all of these plays have been produced, my main goal is just to get it out into the world and move on….still what if NO ONE buys it. My doubts are demons dancing in my brain.

Speaking of plays, my play, “The Wall,” is available for download (free) from Independent Playwrights.

Also, I’m shortly going to be opening an esty shop. I’m a writer that paints with too many painting for my home anymore and a crafter. It’s time to downsize. And maybe spread my view of the world to others.

And lastly, I’m pairing with a local artist to create a comic book. Details will follow including a Kickstarter campaign. It’s a slow process which I’m not used to and scary but I think the process will be worth it.

As you can see, lot’s going on that puts me into the world and opens me up to rejection. I suppose in the end I’ll just have to suck it up and put my big girl pants on. And if I do face utter rejection, well its the air artists breathe.

 

Today is the first page….

Today is the first page of a 365 page novel. Make it good!

And since I’m feeling rather adventurous for the new year, I thought I’d reveal the cover art for my ebook of plays! The work was from my best friend, a painter and all-round awesome artist, Ashley Hunt, who now lives out in Buffalo.

final I have just a bit more work on my book (ok really I’m just waiting a few weeks to calm my nerves) but it should be up within a few weeks. And yes, I’m sure I’ll be obnoxious with shooting from the rooftops about it.

Here’s to 2014 being the year you write a best seller with your life.

Goodbye 2013 (the last of my two pieces published this year)

One more day until the new year, so I decided to post the other two of my pieces which were accepted in Euphemism. I’m about a month behind on this but as I documented so much in this blog, life has a funny way of getting in the way of my life plans! Enjoy and stay safe this holiday!

After (You’ve Gone)

the heart beats on

life beats
on.

the heart generates
an electrical
signal

its own signal,
animpulse

this,
we can prove
recorded by
an EKG

dots of
your fingertips
painting my
skin red

electrodes
on
chest

it exists

as

I and you,
did, do,

still do

though not us,
rusted, worn, rotten pictures

the impulse leads
to each beat

mix-tape memories stuck
controlling

a we’re-through, salty-tear
smooch stains until
you tear awayas
the signal spreads
across the heart

triggering
muscles to contract
in the correct sequence.

the signal spreads
right to left

a party of dreams
relay-replay.

pushing the blood into…

right to
left

right to
left

your face brushed
mine, smiling

the impulse is
then passed through
to the ventricles

misty, black n white
nightmares

us

causing
the ventricles to
contract.

I throw off my
sheet, ripping at
my skull.

the heart
beats
on.

and my essay:

The flip side of a copy

Time moves slowly when you’re a glorified copy wench. As the pale glow of replication illuminates the growing wrinkles adorning my face, the realization slowly sinks in. A train monkey could take my place, not a NASA rocketeering monkey either but a sleep-most-of-the-day in between poo-flinging one.

As the minutes tick to the void, my eyes scan the room. I want to rip down the OSHA poster, burn it to the ground, screaming to my coworkers, “six years, two degrees, honors societies and publications have to amount to more than paper cuts. And sleepless nights slaved away with library crammed house should amount to more than a no-benefits, crap-dollar an hour pay.”  I want to start anew.

A battled scared vet returning to a reformed nation, I find myself longing to be lost in The Wasteland, strung out and strung up in a hotel full of beatniks and hippies hell bent on filling the worlds with flowers.  But the best minds of my generation are wasting away in cheaply pressed suits, long retail hour eyes wearied, as their back breaks with the loans on which their future was built/destroyed.  And my rent is due in a week.

The copy machine spits out my order. As my hands shake, I pick up each warm piece, permeating my skins. But my bones shake as I turn out the light and slowly walk away, each step echoing down the hallway.

Submission Alert!

I stumble upon a new journal Small Po[r]tions who is accepting submissions for their journal.

blog

According to their website, the submission details are:

Small Po[r]tions is now accepting submissions for our first issue to be published this Spring.

  • Please submit up to 1327 words or one multimedia work by January 20 2014 tosmallportionsjournal@gmail.com.
  • Simultaneous submissions are considered, as long as you notify us if the work is accepted elsewhere.
  • This journal will have an online component for new media works as well as a hand-bound print edition for each issue.
  • Small Po[r]tions reserves first North American publishing rights, and non-exclusive rights to reproduce, display, and distribute the work in print or other media platforms. Print rights return to the author after first publication in Small Po[r]tions.

I’ll archive it tonight under my submission tab. Happy writing to all my fellow writers.

How do you fit reading into an overscheduled life?

It’s the time of year we in the educating field love, almost-winter break time. Not a great time for the bank account (sad,sad falling numbers which will plummet in the next few weeks) but precious free time. Time to sleep. Time to write. Time to finish up projects, and most of all, time to read. ( I still have Insurgent waiting on my shelf to be picked up.)

I like way too many people live an over-scheduled life.  I hardly have enough time in the day to get what I have to get done much less have time for the fun little extras like reading.woman-reading

Barnes n Noble had a blog asking readers to tell them how they squeeze reading into their day. Some are silly. Some are genius. And others will baffle you.

So here’s my question to you, how do you fit reading into your day?

Acceptance!….and a poem

Euphemism, ISU’s literary journal came out. As I spent four years getting two degrees at Illinois State and a few years on the staff, this journal is a little baby to me which made it much all the more pleased that this year they accepted four of my pieces (two poems and two essays.) Over the next couple of weeks, I will post the work for you guys to enjoy! The first:

no light to come

Rachael Stanford

no light to come

I waited with razor blade eyes for a voice,
any voice, to tell me that can’t
could be undone.

waited, wrist atrophied
body pruning to death
amongst scented bubbles

to know
we is not are

not the doodles of remembrance
in our youthful futures.

unequivocal proof that is
isn’t only a perfect mess
potentially erased

is only is [sic]

but knowing that with wanting
what the answer could only be,
that even, if only, for the blink of an eye

even, if only, in the last lucent moments
before the drunkard stumbles
into their perpetual state of dis-existence
that we could never still be, but in—

if only

finding that never
sometimes is our only constant

the separation between you and I
exist besides grammatical purposes

(if only)

in a fractured corner of the Jungian mind
separated and immersed in
slipping words
chests of watery graves

(if only)

the pressure pushes
upon my breast

The neon lights
my heaven