In the coming 2014 year, I shall continue out my Dizzy writing through Tumblr, as well as start blogging from my new platform at Wordpress, at pariskimisawriter.wordpress.com. I love what I've achieved here on this blog, but right now I feel that the pace at which I need to run has picked up heavily-- time is fleeting as graduation from college finished and I'm heading in God knows where. I've mastered some tech-savvy skills at blogging from my Blogger platform, but I'm eager for a new taste of possibilities, and outlook.
I look forward to this new year, and what my new platform can achieve with it! Follow The Dizzy Writer here, and a Happy New Year!!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
So Tonight I Got Home Late, Exhausted-- then I remembered "Moon River" exists in music box melody on Youtube.
I also stumbled upon this little musing of a quote:
stop for just one second.
think about all the people you’ve secretly had a crush on. all the people you’ve found attractive, but never said anything to. every stranger you’ve temporarily fallen in love with on public transportation. all the people you’ve dreamt of and thought of in the early mornings.
and now take a moment to realize that you have been this person for so many people… and you have no idea.
-- Tumblr user spookyphoque
Near-midnight intrigue of this though means one thing: Valentine's Day is approaching at work, and I'm starting to feel the sentimental affects of it.
Aren't strangers wonderful?
stop for just one second.
think about all the people you’ve secretly had a crush on. all the people you’ve found attractive, but never said anything to. every stranger you’ve temporarily fallen in love with on public transportation. all the people you’ve dreamt of and thought of in the early mornings.
and now take a moment to realize that you have been this person for so many people… and you have no idea.
-- Tumblr user spookyphoque
Near-midnight intrigue of this though means one thing: Valentine's Day is approaching at work, and I'm starting to feel the sentimental affects of it.
Aren't strangers wonderful?
Friday, December 13, 2013
The Right Pen, Mightier in More Ways Than One
Late night writing. I cannot emphasize how much of a difference is made in the right pen when it comes to writing.
Any pencil feels unfinished; a cheap ballpoint pen gives you an uneasy hand. You struggle against the stiffness of the ballpoint, rather than working in unison to achieve what you want to write. Nowadays I always, always travel with 3 pens... 2 when one of them (soon) runs dry. The Pilot G-2. Pilot Precise V5, and lastly for fancier touches the American Crafters Metallic Gold Marker get my jobs done. Gold? Because there's just something about gold, is why.
For more tips on making sure you've got the "write" tools for writing, definitely check out this blog The Write Gear, in which you can really learn about the most reliable notebooks and pens to get you on the write track. Remember, writing is a passion, a process of being and relaying your genius to a paper-- it shouldn't feel stuffy.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Freezing temps and a snow warning for Friday.
This is my nine layers, puffy jacket and hat and gloves AND scarf-strong look. Bring it.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Life as a Travel Sage
In these last few months I've emerged as one of the contributing writers to the new travel site Travel Sages. It's the perfect wanderlust place for intimate, personal experiences of cities widely know. Of course, I've been giving my insight to city living in San Francisco, and I'd love to have you guys check it out! I'm not the only sage, but I've written 4 articles so far for the site.
Go ahead, read! Here they are:
The Mystical Fog of San Francisco
A Happy Place and Happy Hour with the Original Irish Coffee
Join a Secret Celebration at Belden Place
Off the Beaten Tour Bus to Alamo Square
Check out their other featured cities and stories as well, all amazing and wonderful content! We have only been live about two weeks, but so far so good-- great feedback and following, especially since we've been reaching out on domains such as Yelp and TripAdvisor.
Facebook Page
"Cameron was a writer, and no one could really tell him if he was a good one. "
Revising my first novel from high school, given the guidance of college workshops, is definitely a rewarding process.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Happy Thanksgiving, thankful first of all for this gorgeous day in the East Bay :) but forever grateful for a beautiful family and dear friends… and these recent turnouts in my life that have made such a difference ♡♡
Minus one; my big sister who is currently in England right now. Missing her add I am deeply thankful for her too (and that she is happy)!
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
THEY LIVED AND LAUGHED AND LOVED AND LEFT.
As told by James Joyce, in the most simplest and loveliest words to sum up the universal human story.
This was written on a sympathy card at work. It felt too broad to credit as just a quote. It deserves our attention; it certainly caught mine. It’s one of the most beautiful proses concerning death. And the lack of punctuation keeps this a flowing, current little piece that captures It in writing.
Just keeping this in mind. Always.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
those last nights
The perils of am LDR means finding comfort last night in this:
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep. You are in California, Australia, wide awake. Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone. Maybe love is not ready for you. Maybe you are not ready for love. Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce–love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe love is only there for a month. Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t.
Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives say, “Welcome, make yourself comfortable.” If love leaves, ask her to leave the door opened behind her. Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet. Whisper, “Thank you for stopping by."
-Sarah Kaye and Phil Kaye
Thursday, November 14, 2013
6 hours until I lead my first workshop at Paper Source!
2 months ago I was at home and making pimped out book covers from grocery bags. Never thought I’d later on be getting paid for doing practically the same thing. Weird how the world works? Undoubtedly grateful, everyday thankful to wake up and go to a job I’m so proud to be going to, a company I’m so amazed by.
Shoot, I like paper, I write on it. And it occurred to me to get a job devoted to it. I may not have ended up at a magazine or publisher house straight out of college, but I’ve gotten out of a hard summer into this incredible and fun post-grad opportunity. All in good time, for my writing career— I’m still freelancing anyways. Right now, workshop captain is for me, I’m meant to craft something beyond my abilities of writing.
Fingers crossed!
Sunday, November 10, 2013
A Happy Accident: my own Blackcurrant vanilla tea
French vanilla creamer
Twinings blackcurrant black tea
a shit load of sugar
that’s all. go drink!
Instagramin' it!
Writing on Big Smile has definitely been slow, having been blogging from my Tumblr.
But if you are social media savvy and then some, I've finally joined Instagram!
Follow me @pariskimwrites to see what you've been missing and what I've still been smiling about.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
EMPLOYMENT!
the grisette period of my life (in the working-class, non-sexually connotation sense of the term). it’s just a leverage sort of position for now, one to at least dip my toes in financial while i secure time time time enough for further developing my writing skills.
i’m working at Paper Source now, in San Francisco. a writer working with paper (TONS OF PAPER) is something she couldn’t ask better for in a post-grad life.
so yes, that’s been life in particular for me.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
"The White Bicycle"
Fuji!
like the mountain that stands, it’s there in the crowd in a weekday rush. it is morning, an underground tunnel, and a clearing for the white, wiry rust that he leans against the waist. mud cakes the tires; rags wind around the handles. it’s not something to notice really— it can’t fold up for the convenience of others nor does it shine so brilliantly in a dark metallic-like black.
but i could get away on it.
let it take me somewhere like a mountain, a new grandeur unseen in my commonplace commute, route, and life. it is a soft pearl blankness, a canvas for color and charisma, because that’s what it was built for— it was built to last, and built to endure whatever stakes so high or low to be faced. i see it here in this now, in this well-worn age, simple and patient and blank. it is a morning commute. the trains are filled with the rush and excitement, of only the people they carry.
i see now that fastened to the bottom are new pedals, bright and neon green. a good omen here— for there is yet to be life, life all over again for the steel vagabond.
like the mountain that stands, it’s there in the crowd in a weekday rush. it is morning, an underground tunnel, and a clearing for the white, wiry rust that he leans against the waist. mud cakes the tires; rags wind around the handles. it’s not something to notice really— it can’t fold up for the convenience of others nor does it shine so brilliantly in a dark metallic-like black.
but i could get away on it.
let it take me somewhere like a mountain, a new grandeur unseen in my commonplace commute, route, and life. it is a soft pearl blankness, a canvas for color and charisma, because that’s what it was built for— it was built to last, and built to endure whatever stakes so high or low to be faced. i see it here in this now, in this well-worn age, simple and patient and blank. it is a morning commute. the trains are filled with the rush and excitement, of only the people they carry.
i see now that fastened to the bottom are new pedals, bright and neon green. a good omen here— for there is yet to be life, life all over again for the steel vagabond.
Friday, July 5, 2013
"Morning Commute"
in response to the BART strikes.
*written back in March, but it’s relevant somehow to now. i just don’t have sympathy for the cause of the workers on strike. losing $70 million in the Bay’s economy every day just so they can get a 24% raise to their already $70,000+ salaries. having been a commuter into SF for two years, i have other problems to worry about, and when the one transportation i relied on is halted for something ridiculous as this, i just don’t get it and i don’t need that to add onto stress.*
Oh exciting, how adventurous!
To be up before dawn cracks the sky and the air has settled into a veil of heat or stiffening chill, depending on time of the year. Hurried for hair, the clothes you’ll carry on for the next nine hours is what you’re out in in the crowded, rushing world— as if anyone shall notice. Showered the night before to save time. give fifteen minutes before makeup to let the puffiness leave the face. If there’s time make a coffee in the kitchen, have a toast or two, sprinkled with brown sugar on butter or smother them in strawberry jam. Breakfast at home is nice— but usually rushed. Sometimes breakfast is elsewhere: the Alpine Bakery by the BART station or minutes before getting to work with fists full of something pulled from the kitchen into plastic baggies while sitting on the bus. Sometimes breakfast doesn’t exist at all.
The same place greets you every morning. It’s looking shabby now, just as tired as every man and woman in pea coats, pinstripe trousers, and anchored by backpacks and brief cases. They stand in line. They want to sleep but need to feel awake. Coffee doesn’t cut it any longer.
Don’t forget, you’re one of them!
And though one of the bunch, chance is not forgiving nor generous. The dented rusty white cars of the SFO-bound 6:57 halt at the yellow line along the brown markers of the platform, and its doors open. The air is heavy and humid and the North Concordians and Pittsburgers are scattered and got dibs. The best seats are four facing each other, or it’s standing. Those without a soul or a sheer common sense take up the vacant ones right along the doors; exceptions to these are the pregnant or disabled or elderly. How grand, to fit in one of those categories for a presidential op!
A lucky break today, because the middle window seat awaits! The new vinyl upholstery: it’s blue and looks quirky with that Jackson Pollock-esque print all over. But to take a seat on it is firm yet plush— and a slipping texture feels more sanitary than the dingy disgusting old upholstery before.
And how the minutes pass, the cities go by. the window may be filmy from dust and dirt but houses and headlights still seem to dance like a periscope. And where’s the light? None, just you— magnificent, no? You are a god— braving the night so that your early start will make the day for someone somewhere. You say this to comfort your irk, fatigue, and the crowds of everyone here like you. We’re nothing like the mortals that wake and begin and 9.
The car moves along through time, where the sky lightens and the leggy palm trees scattered across the sides don’t seem scary anymore when they’re not black shapes— to see their heads hung in the night shadow in the early AM is to take on on where they’ve nodded off.
Strange how it all happens, the yawns, ear pops beneath tunnels of Oakland and the waters of the Bay— and iPhone alarms going off because they’ve been on snooze the whole time— and how worlds collide, flat lands and disco-day rooftops rising into bricks and mirrored skyscrapers behind billboards of chipping paper. Imagine having ridden for so long you know that there’s a cemetery on that deep green hill miles away from the tracks. The awareness grows of when street lights seem like the sun for those seconds in the blueness of the sky, because right after it’ll be day and the lights know their place now and shut off.
How curious it happens that you know, that it is all over and all else begins.
*written back in March, but it’s relevant somehow to now. i just don’t have sympathy for the cause of the workers on strike. losing $70 million in the Bay’s economy every day just so they can get a 24% raise to their already $70,000+ salaries. having been a commuter into SF for two years, i have other problems to worry about, and when the one transportation i relied on is halted for something ridiculous as this, i just don’t get it and i don’t need that to add onto stress.*
Oh exciting, how adventurous!
To be up before dawn cracks the sky and the air has settled into a veil of heat or stiffening chill, depending on time of the year. Hurried for hair, the clothes you’ll carry on for the next nine hours is what you’re out in in the crowded, rushing world— as if anyone shall notice. Showered the night before to save time. give fifteen minutes before makeup to let the puffiness leave the face. If there’s time make a coffee in the kitchen, have a toast or two, sprinkled with brown sugar on butter or smother them in strawberry jam. Breakfast at home is nice— but usually rushed. Sometimes breakfast is elsewhere: the Alpine Bakery by the BART station or minutes before getting to work with fists full of something pulled from the kitchen into plastic baggies while sitting on the bus. Sometimes breakfast doesn’t exist at all.
The same place greets you every morning. It’s looking shabby now, just as tired as every man and woman in pea coats, pinstripe trousers, and anchored by backpacks and brief cases. They stand in line. They want to sleep but need to feel awake. Coffee doesn’t cut it any longer.
Don’t forget, you’re one of them!
And though one of the bunch, chance is not forgiving nor generous. The dented rusty white cars of the SFO-bound 6:57 halt at the yellow line along the brown markers of the platform, and its doors open. The air is heavy and humid and the North Concordians and Pittsburgers are scattered and got dibs. The best seats are four facing each other, or it’s standing. Those without a soul or a sheer common sense take up the vacant ones right along the doors; exceptions to these are the pregnant or disabled or elderly. How grand, to fit in one of those categories for a presidential op!
A lucky break today, because the middle window seat awaits! The new vinyl upholstery: it’s blue and looks quirky with that Jackson Pollock-esque print all over. But to take a seat on it is firm yet plush— and a slipping texture feels more sanitary than the dingy disgusting old upholstery before.
And how the minutes pass, the cities go by. the window may be filmy from dust and dirt but houses and headlights still seem to dance like a periscope. And where’s the light? None, just you— magnificent, no? You are a god— braving the night so that your early start will make the day for someone somewhere. You say this to comfort your irk, fatigue, and the crowds of everyone here like you. We’re nothing like the mortals that wake and begin and 9.
The car moves along through time, where the sky lightens and the leggy palm trees scattered across the sides don’t seem scary anymore when they’re not black shapes— to see their heads hung in the night shadow in the early AM is to take on on where they’ve nodded off.
Strange how it all happens, the yawns, ear pops beneath tunnels of Oakland and the waters of the Bay— and iPhone alarms going off because they’ve been on snooze the whole time— and how worlds collide, flat lands and disco-day rooftops rising into bricks and mirrored skyscrapers behind billboards of chipping paper. Imagine having ridden for so long you know that there’s a cemetery on that deep green hill miles away from the tracks. The awareness grows of when street lights seem like the sun for those seconds in the blueness of the sky, because right after it’ll be day and the lights know their place now and shut off.
How curious it happens that you know, that it is all over and all else begins.
Monday, June 3, 2013
The Exciting Month of May
I really don't know where to start, other than it's been awhile and frankly, and happily to say, TONS has happened.
I am a graduate. Can I believe it? Four years ago I couldn't wait to dip my toes into this exciting city and quickly those four years have gone by and I feel on my own. But nothing to worry, I'm not leaving, and though wiser than I was back then I am anew, a child faced with the uncertainty of the hunt for an exciting job and eyes peeled for experiences that shall fuel more writing-- most importantly more writing.
And I've already seen one chance! THE BEST AND TRULY MOST MEMORIAL WEEKEND that just came around the corner, a beautiful and lovely road trip into Southern California.
wasn't alone of course. best weekend with the bestest friend and boyfriend i could have ever known. and seeing my amazing cousin Jaclyn again? childhood revisited and revitalized for new traveling beginnings!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
I AM DONE WITH SENIOR YEAR, I AM DONE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF SAN FRANCISCO.
it’s been such a busy last two weeks with my Senior Seminar
Conference, Senior Stumble, and last writing projects to turn in. as an
English major, i couldn’t have asked for a better experience than San
Francisco + a college so caring and in tuned to the injustices and
passions of this world, and I am very proud to have been a part of the
Dons, to go out and try to do what i can to change the world and do good
through my part in writing.
and did i mention that i got published in The Ignatian??
well yes. i did. and i had a marvelous time here and met the most amazing peers and professors ever. May the next chapter in my life be just as shaky and exciting.
UNIVERSITY OF SAN FRANCISCO, CLASS OF ‘13.
Senior Seminar Conference, reading from my novel excerpts The Knight and the Businessman.
evidence of a fucking awesome Senior Stumble… BEST ENGLISH CLASS EVER
well yes. i did. and i had a marvelous time here and met the most amazing peers and professors ever. May the next chapter in my life be just as shaky and exciting.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
April 2, another SUCCESSFUL Word Night Reading!
read aloud excerpts from “Break” that included spearmint soap, Nutella, and shirtless guys taking baths illegally in fancy fountains.
then one of the BEST chai lattes at The People’s Cafe on the Haight.
love everyone here. glad they could make it to a not-so-sleepy Sunday night out!
Friday, April 26, 2013
photos of a sunny Valencia
Valencia's easily grown on me. virtually never having gone there before this year, this was a nice discovery. yeah, hipsters galore, but it's a pretty street and the bustling sidewalks and chill atmosphere is just-- well, it's nice to walk around here when i need a break from work.
and that parrot? the sidewalk art is always pretty detailed and ironic, humorous (Ron Swanson decal and a guy with a tv for a head are the most memorable) but THIS. the colors. all i need to really say about this one.
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