winter is cold, beards are itchy, and writing a blog helps

As I look out my window to a bright sun and blue sky,















I find it hard to believe that winter has arrived. Yet arrived it has, and with a cold vengeance. While we certainly don't have the snow in West Michigan, Chicago being along Lake Michigan makes for some bitterly frigid winters.

In response to this, I've unpacked my hat and gloves, dusted off my winter coats, and attempted to grow a beard:











--which I thought would make me look like a "struggling writer" but instead, I think makes me look more like a "potential serial killer." Whatever the case may be, its at least helping to keep my face warm.

Speaking of a struggling writer, after I posted two of my poems in the previous blog entry, one published and one the unofficial, unpublished "sequel", I thought I would check the list of links of my other published stories. And well that I did. It turned out that many of the links were old or bad. So I've updated them. You can listen to the two podcast stories for free, read several online shorts free as well, or order the printed books anthologies. Enjoy!

Now, back to working on my book, which I've been putting off by making this blog entry because A. I'm slightly hungover (damn alcoholic eggnog) and B. I'm a slacker.

Back to work!

two poems

The first thing I published after graduating from Aquinas in 2004 was the poem "The Pipes of Pan," which was printed in the The Willows magazine back in February 2007. The magazine has since gone under, and the poem is nowhere to be found online, though I do retain one of my contributor's copies.

A colleague of mine noted the (unintentional) similarity between my poem and Christopher Marlowe's poem to Sir Walter Raleigh 'The Passionate Sheperd to His Love.' He mentioned it would be fun to read an answering poem, much in the way Sir Walter answered Marlowe with, 'The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.'

And so I wrote the poem "The Maenad's Answer." I present them both now here, free of charge, for your enjoyment. Comments are, of course, welcome:


The Pipes of Pan
By Patrick Hurley

Have you heard my pipes,
my lass,
their sweet, seductive call?

They’re chilling, shrilling, trilling,
my lass,
amongst the leaves of fall.

Have you heard them dance,
my lass,
their fey, haunting tune?

They’re cooing, hooing, blewing
my lass,
‘yond the far side of the moon.

They’re calling out for you,
my lass,
to leave both hearth and home.

Come, climb out your window,
my lass,
the night is ours to roam.

We’ll dance and sing and caper and prance,
and frolick the night away.

We’ll whisper, and kiss, and flicker, and drink,
until the dawn of day.

Then we’ll taste your sweet perfume,
naked under cloudless moon,
and when sunrise doth start to loom,

We’ll all fade away.

We’ll all fade away.

Then you shall return,
my lass,
where mother and father wait.

Naked and alone,
my lass,
left adrift by fate.

Count your lucky stars,
my lass,
to walk through father’s hall.

Next time we come a’ calling,
my lass,
you may not return at all.

For the troupe of Pan,
is a hungry troupe,
whose merry-making ne’er ends.

And though we drink and drink and drink,
on food we must depend.

This is why,
oh my fair lass,
we call on thee alone.

For, from time to time,
my lass,
Pan’s troupe needs
flesh and bone.





The Maenad’s Answer to Pan
By Patrick Hurley

Yes I’ve heard your pipes,
my lad,
sounding through my wall.

They’re fleeting, cheating, bleating,
my lad,
hardly seductive at all.

Oh, I’ve seen you dance,
my lad,
prancing like a loon.

Perching, searching, lurching,
my lad,
a hairy, drunk buffoon.

I will walk with you,
my lad,
in the woods so late.

Little do you know,
my lad,
there my sisters wait.

You’ll lie and steal and brag and boast,
idling the night away.

Whilst I pretend to smile and laugh,
thinking of how you’ll pay

Our hungry eyes shine in the gloom,
the beating drums proclaim your doom,
and rising sun will mark you tomb.

Oh how you’ll pay.

Oh how you’ll pay.

Oh you might come through,
my lad,
with naught but aching head.

Winesick and forlorn,
my lad,
wishing you were dead.

Count your stupid blessings
my lad,
to wake w’ both horns intact.

Next time you come a’calling
my lad,
you may leave on your back.

For a Maenad’s claws
are long and sharp
and hunger for taste of man.

Because we take what we can find,
we’ll settle for foolish Pan.

So you see,
oh fairy lad,
the truth of my sisterhood.

We’ll save a dance for you,
my lad,
in the end
we will have blood.

the good and the bad (and the cool)

THE GOOD:
-great weekend... tons of things got done

-I GOT ANOTHER STORY ACCEPTED FOR PUBLICATION. "The Nature of My Game" is one of my shortest stories, coming in at only 1,000 words, but also one of my favorites. It is perhaps a tad heavy handed, a leetle overtly symbolic, I still love the beat to it, love the ending: it was a lot of fun to finish. I wrote it several years ago, but re-wrote and heavily edited it listening continuously to one of my favorite Rolling Stones songs, a lyric from which the title of story comes from. The magazine to finally accept the piece (I had numerous rejection letters on this story saying, with editors saying they really like it but it was not for them) is called Ghostlight Magazine, a quarterly put out by the Great Lakes Horror Writers association. Such good news!

THE BAD:
-I haven't written anything this week. I feel like such a fucking slacker.

-Work has been the pits and the shits. Just this week. Not because of anything I've done... Its just been super fucking busy, and people are losing their minds with all the projects that are careening back and forth. Can't wait for another two weeks to pass. I desperately want to take a week's vacation. Not 'til after Thanksgiving though.

THE COOL:
Check out some of the artwork I've been in charge of directin/creating at work, with a really talented artist Rich Lo:

I laughed for about a minute straight...

Simply awesome.

Quick Update

I have a new phone. (T-Mobile Wing, given to me as a gift)

I have taken pictures with my phone, of my apartment, which I enjoy very much:















I have Twitter. I enjoy it very much.

I have a raise. Not much, but enough to order out every once in awhile and not feel guilty.

I am desperately out of shape. Seriously, I had trouble running my favorite two mile lake route.

I haven't written anything for my book in two weeks.

I paid off a credit card. (in large part due to working part time for my friends at Shutterbooth Chicago)

I have had several very nice personal rejections letters for stories recently, all of which tell me how my story was great and almost made it in. I find these maddening since I'm simultaneous grateful for the praise but frustrated that some of my stories are still unpublished.

I am hungry. Time to order out. Hello Cozy Noodle!!!

Story

Some days its easy, other days it isn't.

Some days its something I'm always meaning to get to, but it keeps eluding me, obscured by life's meaningless repetitive chores.

Other days I hide from it and try not to think about it, to forget it exists.

But it's always there in the back of my mind. It always finds me.

And then...

Then there are the days when it feels like a wife, a lover, a friend. It sounds like the best song I've ever heard or tastes like the best food I've ever eaten.

I realize as I write this that my ramble could just as easily refer to life in general as it does its titular subject. How amazing. How lovely and simple.

Life should be a story.

blue sky over a blue lake

I woke up this morning after a very late, and very fun night with friends. Though still quite tired, I knew that it was past 11am and if I didn't want to waste the day or destroy my sleep schedule, it was time to emerge from my cocoon of soft sheets and warm comforters, open the door from my cavernous and pitch-black room, and start the day.

I stumbled into the kitchen, poured the rest of yesterday's coffee into a cup and heated the mug in the microwave. While the coffee was re-heating, I cracked open two eggs into a bowl, dashed some salt and pepper in, poured in two "gloops" of milk, whisked, and poured the mixture onto a pan to begin making some scrambled eggs. While the eggs cooked to a fluffy white, I toasted a slice of bread, spread Choco-spread on the toast, pulled my coffee out of the microwave and poured in decent helpings of milk and sugar, changing the blackish mixture within the cup into something creamy and brown.

Once my breakfast was ready, I took the book that I'd been reading, set it out on the table on the patio, set out a hand-woven placemat from Nicaragua that was a gift from a friend on the table, and laid out my breakfast.

There was a brisk wind off Lake Michigan and the sun shone merrily in the sky, transforming the water into a sea of sapphires and diamonds. I sat with book in one hand, fork in the other, enjoying myself by combining my two favorite activities: reading and eating. Without knowing why, I stopped for a moment. I looked around, felt the warm sun on my face, the cool breeze caressing my skin.

Simply put, it was absolutely beautiful. The breakfast, the book, the coffee, the patio, the sun and the wind. The bright sky, confectionary clouds, the azure water. I sat for a minute, taking it all in, as I have before and will again.

And I realized one simple thing: despite the tiredness of the morning, the mild hangover, the stress at work, the frustrations with writing a book, despite all the turmoils of growing up, letting go and saying goodbye: I am happy.

To realize one's happiness is a simple but joyous thing. And while I have yet to achieve all the goals I have set forth in my life, I realize that, for the most part, I have made a good beginning.