Walls

Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down. ~Anonymous

The image at left was my bedroom wall a month ago. I was busy making myself a physical wall to match the mental one slowly forming in my mind. Each brick was a day, an emotion, a thought, a memory. Something I needed to see because I couldn't trust my own mind. Some were good, but in truth, most were bad.

Over the last few months I've played with a lot of metaphors. I've been in a well, held a slippery rope, wandered the woods, built foundation for future walls, and done everything I could to wrap my mind around the situation. To grasp the ramifications of reality. To somehow deal with the confusion of my present and face the great unknown I used to refer to as my future. The metaphors were pretty. They were rich and colorful, much like the scraps of construction paper I taped up daily, and did what they could. But they weren't clarity. They weren't... real.

There are a lot of quotes regarding walls. I actually chose the one I did for this blog because a lovely, amazing, wonderful teenage daughter of a friend of mine posted it on her facebook a while back, and I not only loved the quote, but the layers behind it---behind her. Did I mention she's amazing? In truth, I should have just used my own personal thoughts on walls, but I've never said them aloud before. Never shared the truth before. Walls are dangerous. Walls are a barrier on at least one side. No matter how much graffiti you put on them, no matter how many weeds grow up to cover the cracks, if you are behind a wall, or standing in front of one, you feel barricaded. Perhaps frustratingly so. Perhaps with a false sense of security. Regardless, it's a barricade. It takes energy and effort to sustain it. And much like the futility of the continued strain it takes to hate someone, continuing to block or be blocked is unhealthy.

My true thoughts on walls? Well, that image up there, my own colorful reminder of my mental state, will make a lot more sense after I say this. I don't build walls to hide behind... but rather to climb upon for a better view. When I remembered that---when I looked at what I'd written out, stared at, studied, and processed---I found some clarity, not in the whispers of the moon or the songs of the shoreline, but in my own head. And with some clarity achieved, the colorful bricks of my pretend wall came down about a week ago.

Today is an anniversary of the last time I tore down my walls. One of those special handful of days that changes your life forever. One of those days you never forget, no matter how far removed from it you become. That day was one of those blurred yellow bricks. That day, that scrap of paper on my wall, included four words that both scared and thrilled me. That day... today... will never lose its meaning, no matter how high my walls get, no matter how far I have to climb to sit atop them. I'll always remember that on that day, this day, I was willing to tear them all down and see what the world looked like from ground level.

And while only a couple of people will truly understand this blog, I needed to say something today. I couldn't let today go by without some sort of comment. But I hate leaving people out. So, since it's Thursday, let's turn it into something more than me trying to grasp what today is, or rather, what I suddenly find it isn't. Let's have some good old garage talk.

I mentioned graffiti on the walls, let's go there. Do you pay attention to graffiti? Do you notice what it's written on or just the writing/drawing itself? What kind of graffiti grabs your eye? Do you have a favorite piece of graffiti?

Me? As a kid, I lived near a lot of train tracks and I think my appreciation for graffiti started there---as I sat waiting for the train to pass and had nothing better to do than to watch the various styles of graffiti zoom past me on the train cars themselves. I did have a favorite piece of graffiti. Only discovered a few years ago, but definitely my favorite. A red door with "voice?" written over it. I looked at it every day. I let my muse roll it around a few different scenarios and genres. For whatever reason, I really liked it---though it's been covered now by the anons...

So what about you? Thoughts on graffiti... A favorite piece... Gimme some Thursday love. Of course, I'm going to be busy surviving the today for the first portion of this blog and won't be responding to any of them today. But when the sun rises tomorrow, as it tends to do, no matter what, I'll be back to comment. Happy 01/19 Thursday. #NWNC

Fake It

"Do your hair and put on your make-up. If you look better, you'll feel better." ~ Mom

It's a smart idea. A sound suggestion. And in truth, it has actually worked on occasion. Even when it doesn't work, I still try. Like now. Much like I mentioned in the Count to Three blog, people don't always want to hear the truth when they ask "how are you?" And frankly, we don't always want to answer it. At all. On any level. I don't want to talk about the things that are wrong anymore. I don't want to discuss the state of the union, why 2011 sucked, how my life spiraled into a personal hell from which even dreamland won't let me escape. I don't want to twitter strange things hoping the right person sees it and gets it. I'm done. I never admired weakness. I never wanted to grow up and be a whiny pathetic cry-baby. I wanted to be Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, Katherine Hepburn, and a plethora of other strong leading ladies that even in their own hell could and would hold their head high and face the world with a smile. A smile. That's what it's all about. And that's what I'm going to do... Smile. No matter what. Smile, and eventually the smile will be real. It's the physical equivalent of "peachy"---my standard answer to "how are you?" I don't always mean it, but I always say it. The smile on my face? I'm going to do it, whether it's lipstick or drawn on a piece of torn paper and held up to cover reality. I'm going to smile. I'm going to laugh. I'm going to move forward with the appearance of grace. I won't let anyone know I'm bleeding, let alone ask for a band-aid. And one day, with any luck, my smile will actually match the torn paper it hides behind. Hello 2012... ready for me? I've got books to write, genres to take over, and fans to woo and win. Now then, if you read this blog but haven't gotten the latest, check out the bookstore. I've got to go work on #LS.

eBook Available!

A missing girl. A found fingertip. A puddle of blood without a body...

A small town neighborhood full of rumors and imagination through the eyes of its youth. Their world is a combination of grass stains and dried mud—the badges of childhood, that often look like blood in the right light.

~ THE NEIGHBORHOOD ~

Now available on eBook at Amazon. Taking requests for other formats (please leave a comment with the format you're looking for and a valid email address) REVIEWS:
In perhaps her most understated, restrained work yet, Owen builds her story and its suspense slowly, brick by brick, using even, smooth brushstrokes to paint a chilling portrait of a small little town where everyone is happy... Until the blood comes spilling out into their lives... The Neighborhood may very well cause you to doubt what you think you know... ~ Kevin Lucia via Goodreads
The Neighborhood is a really good introduction to a world that begs to be revisited. If Neillsville becomes Kelli's Castle Rock over time, it's definitely a town I'm up to visit again in future stories. ~ Wag the Fox
The style and structure reminded me of Bentley Little at his best, and The Neighborhood is just as compulsive a page-turner as anything Mr. Little has done. Kelli Owen is definitely an author to watch. ~ HorrorWorld
This is not a book where you read about a monster, get scared and then forget about it after your finished... this is one book that you won't forget. Kelli Owen is not here to just be another horror writer, she is here to kick your ass and scare the hell out of you. Now just say to yourself, "It's only a book." ~ The Horror Review
I found this story started out to be a low discomfort, but steadily increased its buzz of high alert adrenaline, until my instincts were stretched taut and screaming with anxiety. ~ The Crow's Caw
And please note/remember: Taking requests for other formats (please leave a comment with the format you're looking for and a valid email address)
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